“No!” I nearly shout. Lyra glances over her shoulder, brows pulled tight before a smirk curves her lips. She turns back to the road.
“Garrick was on the bottom bunk.”
And then—hegrins.
It’s real. Unfiltered. The kind of smile that reaches all the way to his eyes. And gods, his eyes—theysparklewith the memory. Like the moment is still alive inside him.
I can see it—the awe of Xaroth choosing him, the hilarity of poor Garrick’s misfortune. And for a heartbeat, the weight between us shifts.
He looks lighter when he smiles. Like—for once—the duty, the control, the shadows aren’t pressing quite so hard.
And that face—sharp angles, smoke-gray eyes, lit with something warm and unguarded.
And just like that, my heart melts.
All. Over. Again.
Dammit.
He looks away, throat working like he’s considering whether to say more. He turns back to me, gaze steady. When his eyes find mine again, they’re steady—and his next words come low, deliberate.
“You’re doing better than most would in your place.”
Simple. Undeniable. And somehow, that makes it mean more.
I drop my eyes to the reins in my hands. They’re morecallused now than they ever were back when I worked the fields with my parents. Harder. Rougher.
Like the rest of me.
I take a slow breath, then lift my head and turn to him.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Because somehow, that small truth from him . . . it means more than I expected.
Up ahead, I catch sight of Lyra throwing her head back in a laugh—loud, unrestrained, and utterly Lyra. And Valen is looking at her . . . gods, the corner of his mouth actually pulls up. If anyone could get Valen to laugh, it’d be her.
“Valen’s a hard one to crack,” Thane remarks, his voice low with just the faintest edge of amusement.
“I’ve noticed.” A pause. Then, quietly, “What was he like when you first met him? Was he always this serious?”
It’s a safe question. Neutral ground. No heat, no landmines.
Thane’s gaze shifts toward the pair ahead. “Serious? Yes. But not in the way most people think.” He’s quiet for a beat. “He was sharp. Always two steps ahead of everyone else. And blunt—gods, he could cut a man down with words alone. Still can.” His tone softens, almost nostalgic. “But he was the first person who looked at me in a long time and didn’t see just fire. He saw what I could be, not what I was.”
Thane’s gaze goes distant now, shadows of old memories flickering in his eyes. “And he came to us right after my father became ill. So I wasn’t in the best place.”
He exhales slowly, the memory clearly heavier than the words alone.
“Valen . . . helped me find my way again.”
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. Not because he’s incapable of it—but because it’s rare. Precious. Like light breaking through rock.
I don’t say anything right away. Instead I watch him. And fora moment, the silence between us feels . . . different. Lighter.
The trail narrows as we move into the trees, the canopy thickening above us. The sunlight softens, filtered through the leaves, dappling our path in shifting gold and green.
Thane doesn’t speak for a few moments. His gaze lingers on the man ahead—dark hair that falls in uneven waves, touched with gray at the temples.
