When he finally let her go, it felt like tearing a piece of herself away. She didn’t move as he stepped back. She couldn’t. For a moment, he lingered, like he might say something else. But then he turned and began to walk. And she watched as his silhouette carved a clean line against the rising dawn, boots dropping into soft sand that offered no resistance. She watched as each step took him farther into the barren unknown, praying to the stars that he’d find his way back to her when it was over.
“If you run into that old serpent, Lucky,” she called after him, her voice rough, “tell him I’ll rip his spine out if he touches you.”
Josh didn’t stop. Nor did he answer. He kept walking into the shimmering sands.
Watching him go, she burned every detail into memory—the swing of his pack, the shape of his shoulders, the way his figure shrank against the infinite reach of the wasteland.And when he finally disappeared into the glare of the rising sun, she stayed staring, the desert wind drying the tears she hadn’t realized had fallen.
Something churned in her chest. Not pain exactly. Not longing. Just…something. It wouldn’t name itself, wouldn’t settle. One moment it felt like anger, the next like loss, and then something quieter she couldn’t begin to untangle. Whatever it was, it stayed with her as she watched him vanish. Still moving. Still hers. And not.
She dragged a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the tangles. Trying to make sense of it felt like shoving a cactus into a teacup. Pointless. Messy. Doomed. And yet, it burned as fiercely as the desert sun overhead. The desert stretched out before Josh, vast, ancient, and merciless. It felt alive beneath the sun, a presence that watched in silence, where somewhere under all that wind-carved sand, danger waited. It would test him. Challenge him. And he would face it alone, without her.
She pictured him out there, facing things no blade could cut—old ghosts, old wounds, whatever the desert chose to unearth. It would peel him back, grain by grain, and maybe put him together all wrong. The thought sat heavy in her gut. What if the desert hollowed him out? What if it filled him with something else? What if he didn’t come back at all?
Or worse, what if he did, and whatever he’d felt for her turned out to be a mirage? Just dehydration and distance playing tricks on them both, never real enough to survive the sun.
The questions spun in her mind like a curse.
A low growl rumbled in her stomach, useless and animal. She hated standing still, hated that there was nothing she could do. But under the frustration, pride held her steady.
It rose in her, quiet but insistent. Josh wasn’t just walking into danger. He was stepping into something vast, older than the world beneath their feet. Whatever waited out there, he was going to tilt the very axis of everything. Existence would be forever changed.
She reached up to her face, only to find blood staining her fingers, a trace left behind by tears she hadn’t noticed falling. With a hiss of disgust, she wiped it on the back of her pants and spat into the sand.
The sight of it, the reminder of the Hunger that lived inside her, filled her with loathing.
But before the loathing could drag her under, a dullclompbroke the stillness behind her. A moment later came the hot, damp exhale of a horse at her back, moist air tracing the curve of her neck.
“No, girl. We have to let him go this time,”Rynna sighed.
A firm nudge caught her shoulder, and she turned to meet the dark swell of Empty Night’s muzzle, her fingers sinking into the mare’s thick mane and sweat-damp hide.
“Things are changing,” she sighed. “In the way of things. It has to do with him. We have to let it happen.”
Empty Night nudged her again, a stronger push this time, as if to sayenough brooding. Rynna stumbled a step forward, caught off guard, then huffed a short laugh.
“He’ll be okay,” she said, more to herself than the horse. “He has to be.”
She reached for the saddle, swung herself up, letting her legs settle against the mare’s flanks. With a soft nudge of her heel, they started down the slope. Empty Night moved at a relaxed pace, each step stirring little puffs of dust in the morning light as they began the short ride back toward the town and the others waiting there.
She frowned, not looking forward to Adam’s reaction.
He was going to be angry when she returned alone.
Josh had kept all his followers awake half the night, charming them with wild stories and passing wine from hand to hand. Even the most tight-laced among them had eventually loosened up, drawn into his rhythm. They’d wake up, heads pounding and stomachs churning, to find both Joshua and Rynna gone.
She smirked at the thought, knowing they’d assume theworst.
As if that hadn’t already happened. Many. Many times.
Assholes. She rolled her eyes, then her lips thinned.
They couldn’t fathom how much worse it really was. He was gone. Besides her, only Josh’s oldest friend, Malachi, had known. And together, they had crafted the plan.
Malachi stayed behind with the rest of the companions, playing guardian not just of them, but of the fragile peace they still carried. Because if any of them found out where Josh had gone, they would chase him into the teeth of the desert, most likely dying in the process.
His solution, unconventional and entirely in character, had been to drink everyone into a stupor. And it had worked. By the time dawn approached, the whole group had succumbed to the effects of the night. Potent liquor, Josh’s silver tongue, and a shared sense of nostalgia had softened them into forgetfulness. They wouldn’t rise until well after she returned.
Now, as Empty Night carried her along the worn path back to the village, doubt crept in. She wondered if she should stay and wait for Josh to return on her own. She doubted they would want her back if he wasn’t there, forcing her on them.
