Then his eyes lifted.
She tried to look away—too late. For a heartbeat, their gazes locked, heat rising to her cheeks as her pulse faltered.
Get a grip, she told herself, turning her focus back to the flames.
He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t done anything to suggest something had changed in their strictly ‘no drama’ situation. Yet, there had been an undeniable tension between them since the start of the mission—glances that lingered a second too long, the brush of his hand against hers when they passed supplies. Each time, they both studiously ignored it, but it was there, simmering just beneath the surface.
That last quip after the stupid cat mission had been dumb. She’d gotten caught up in the moment, excited he was finally talking to her, and now things were definitely weird.
Bran poked at the fire with a stick. “So, what’s the first thing we do when we save the village?”
“Hopefully, get some real food.” Elara looked down at her ration pack in distaste.
“I’ll settle for a hot bath,” Rynna muttered, her voice low as she stretched out on the ground, arms arching over her head.
Fenn’s gaze flicked toward her, his eyes hovering on the curve of her neck before quickly looking away.
“A bath?” Bran’s eyes lit up. “Now that sounds like a reward!”
Gran Hesta huffed a laugh, drawing their attention. “You’ll be happy to know my village has some of the best hot springs on the continent.” She paused, her voice growing softer. “Before all of this, my husband and I would go there every third day.”
“Hot springs?” Bran sat up straighter. “Why didn’t you mention that earlier? We should definitely go there!”
“Perhaps.” Fenn’s voice was calm, but Rynna thought she noticed something in his eyes as they met hers again across the fire.
You’re imagining things.She frowned, stretching out her roll and pulling the blanket over her head, determined to ignore the man.Just focus on themission.
On the second day, the landscape continued to change as they moved deeper into the foothills. The air grew cooler, and the trees became more frequent, their leaves rustling in the breeze. The river remained at their side, growing wider and swifter as they climbed higher.
That night, they camped again, this time beneath a canopy of trees, the scent of pine mingling with the smoke.
“We should reach the waypoint tomorrow,” Fenn said. “I don’t expect any challengers, but the Stone Hollow-born can get overly enthusiastic about their duty safeguarding the site.”
“The Stone Hollow-born?” Elara asked.
“Yes. Stone and Ember Reach alternate guarding the waypoint every five years to ensure it's not being used by enemy forces. It’s their turn now.”
“But what if they’re the enemy or working with them?” Taren chimed in, his brow furrowed.
Smart kid, Rynna mused, leaning in, interested in Fenn’s answer.
“We hold a hostage of theirs while they guard, and they take one of ours when we guard,” Fenn explained, poking at the fire with a stick. “Usually, it’s a young member of the Warden’s family.”
“A hostage?” Bran scratched his head. “Why do we need a hostage?”
“It ensures trust between the Reaches,” Fenn replied.
“But that’s terrible. Taking a youngling away from their family?” Bran’s face twisted in frustration, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Why can’t we just work together?”
Fenn hesitated, his mouth opening and closing before he finally scratched the back of his head, clearly at a loss for a better answer. “That’s just the way it is, I suppose.”
“It’s stupid.” Bran crossed his arms and scowled at the ground.
“You’re a good kid, aren’t you?” Gran Hesta smiled sadly to herself, turning on her side to sleep. “Who knew I’d find a good one among the Hollow-born.”
The next morning dawned cold and quiet, with the soft rustle of wind through the trees as the group broke camp. The fire had long since died, leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke wafting in the air.
With the camp packed up, Rynna found herself walking beside Fenn as the others trailed behind, jostling each other to see who would carry Gran Hesta's bag.
