While she watches the lights, I, in turn, watch her.
Shadows dance across her face, the fleeting sparks reflected in her eyes. Her rare smile returns, this time sweeter than before. I can’t explain the instinctive protectiveness stirring within me.
Cupping her face in my hands, I gently lean in. All the stress and tension I’ve been holding melt away when my lips find hers, a lock and its key. No words need be exchanged to understand that she is mine, and I am hers.
I will protect Jyn with every fragment of my soul, no matter what it costs me.
But I should know by now that my fortune is anything but plentiful.
Jyn breaks away and stands. “I… should get some sleep,” she mumbles. Before I have a chance to protest, she leaves for her tent without another word.
26
It’s a brisk winter morning,the air thin and the breeze light. We have spent the last two days recovering from our journey across the Western Wastelands, though I never truly settled in. I can sense Jyn’s growing restlessness. I can feel her itching to leave this place.
She has kept her distance ever since our kiss came to an abrupt and awkward halt.
“Oh, dear,” Chyou murmurs, cradling her baby close to her breast. “Why won’t she stop crying?”
We’re gathered around the small fire in front of Chyou and Ming’s family tent, an iron pot of bone broth and root vegetables simmering over the low flames. Little Jia has been sobbing all morning despite her mother’s best efforts. No amount of feeding, burping, changing, sleeping, or playing stops the poor child’s piercing screams. At the very least, it’s nice to know that she is blessed with strong lungs.
“Perhaps I can try holding her for a while?” I offer. “Please, help yourself to something to eat. I can keep watch. Just until Ming gets back from tending to the chickens.”
Chyou smiles appreciatively, the dark circles beneath her eyes unmistakable. “Thank you, Sai.”
I hold the baby to my chest with the utmost care. My experience with children is minimal, though I like them well enough. A-Ma always used to call them little bundles of endless potential. Who knows what great feats they may accomplish one day? What wonderful people they might become?
Chyou stands and stretches, then helps herself to a bowl of soup. “I can’t help but notice that your darling is not here. Did something happen?”
“My darling?” I echo. “Oh, you mean Jyn. You have it wrong, I’m afraid. We’re only—”
“Travel companions?” she teases, her eyebrows raised. Chyou sits back down beside me and takes a sip of her stew. “Please, Sai. I sincerely doubt that ‘travel companions’ act as passionately as we saw the two of you doing last night.”
My ears burn, either from the cold or my rising embarrassment. I keep my eyes on little Jia, who has fallen quiet for a moment, perhaps to catch her breath. She squirms and wriggles in her blanket, one arm outstretched. Her little fingers flex up toward the sky as though to grab onto it, and her cries fade into discontented whimpers. Anything could set her off again.
“Things are… complicated,” I admit.
“Do you have feelings for her?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, but—”
“But what? Love is never that complicated,dìdi.”Little brother.
“?‘Love’ is putting it very strongly. We only just met.”
“Really? You two look as though you’ve known each other for ages.”
“Well, it certainly feels that way.”
“Do you know if she feels the same?” Chyou asks bluntly. I admire her candor. It makes it surprisingly easy to say what’s on my mind.
“I can’t be sure,” I confess. “But regardless, I won’t force her to reciprocate. That wouldn’t be right of me, nor fair to Jyn. I suspect…” I trail off.
“What is it?” she urges.
I’m silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I think. “She’s been through something harrowing. I don’t know what, and I doubt she’ll ever tell me, but I do know she carries the burden of it entirely on her own. I don’t wish to trouble her with my feelings.”
Chyou gives me a sympathetic look. “May I offer a word of advice?”
