The clearing had always felt welcoming. He’d come here as a teenager to have time that was just for him. Sitting here now, withColby’s thigh pressed warm against his, he knew it was no longer just his retreat. It wastheirs.
Colby hadn’t wanted to stay inside long enough even for breakfast. He’d seemed desperate for space. So Tristan had thrown together a couple of sandwiches to bring with them because he was a growing boy. Heneededto eat.
He passed a sandwich to Colby, and practically inhaled his own. Then he leaned back on his elbows and watched Colby, who was frowning at his sandwich like it had offended him.
“What?” Tristan asked. If Colby didn’t want it, he’d gladly give it a home.
“There’s something in here,” Colby muttered suspiciously. “Crunchy. Like nuts or seeds or something.”
“That’s called texture,” Tristan said solemnly. “Some of us enjoy variety in our food.”
Colby gave him a look, but it was a soft one. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Tristan nudged his shoulder. “I know.”
As Colby, disappointingly, ate his sandwich, Tristan kept the conversation away from any mention of the previous day. Instead, he asked about Colby’s patrols with Karl, and he told him about his new TA, who Tristan was pretty sure was plotting to murder the professors and take over the department, and they discussed how likely it was Mayhem could make it to the top of Everest.
When their meandering conversation finally trailed off, Colby lay back in the grass, and his sigh sounded peaceful. Tristan lay beside him, feeling the warmth where their arms were pressed together. It was soothing, it was right, and if he stayed here much longer, he was going to fall asleep, lulled by Colby’s soft, rhythmic breathing.
“I keep thinking it’ll start to feel real,” Colby said softly, after a while. “That I’m allowed to be here.”
“You are,” Tristan murmured. “You deserve this.”
Colby didn’t answer, but he reached out, linking their fingers loosely. Then he turned his head, and Tristan couldn’t resist—he leaned in and kissed him. Slow and quiet, smoothing away any last echoes of yesterday.
Afterward, he lay back again, feeling the silky-smooth grass under him and the warmth of the sun dappling through the trees. A bird called somewhere overhead, and another answered. Leaves rustled gently above them like whispers.
And then Colby’s grip on Tristan’s hand tightened.
Tristan turned his head to look at him and found Colby no longer watching the sky, but staring fixedly into the trees.
“Colby?” he asked.
Colby didn’t answer.
Tristan sat up. The air had shifted. It was still warm, still smelled like pine and sunshine, but something feltwrong. The birds had fallen silent, and the clearing seemed to be holding its breath.
Then Colby stood, sharp and swift, and Tristan followed suit immediately. “What is it?” he asked, his heart beginning to pound.
Colby’s nostrils flared and his eyes scanned the trees. “Nico,” he said hoarsely. “He’s here.”
Tristan’s whole body went cold. “Are you sure?”
But even as he asked it, he knew the answer. He could smell it now—something acrid and sharp under the scent of pine. Something that screameddanger.
Colby grabbed his arm. “Back to the house,” he said. “Now.”
But before they could move, Nico stepped into the clearing. Colby drew in a sharp breath that sounded like a sob, then stood frozen beside Tristan.
Nico moved forward, languid as a cat, his mouth curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Aw. Don’t leave on my account.”
Tristan’s heart slammed against his ribs. Memories of the brig, of Nico’s speed and brutality crashed in on him. His lungs were spasming for air, but he couldn’t breathe.
Colby didn’t move. He was tense, coiled,terrified.
A thought struck Tristan, until he was drowning in the horror of it. For Nico to be here, what did that mean about the rest of the pack? Had he…?
“How did you—?” he started, and it came out as a croak.
