I get to be me.
The trail continues deeper into Frostfang territory, each checkpoint revealing new surprises—a carved box that plays tinny music when opened, a rope bridge that wobbles but holds steady, a tree hollow containing nothing but mirrors that reflect our faces back distorted and ridiculous.
Falla makes a sound that might be a laugh at that one, his reflection stretched tall and thin while mine appears compressed and wide.
"Flattering," I observe dryly.
"Extremely." He's definitely smiling now, the expression easier than before. Like he's remembering how.
We find joke scrolls mixed with real clues—puns about orcs and humans that range from terrible to actually funny. Falla groans at most of them but I catch him hiding smiles behind carefully neutral expressions.
"'What do you call an orc who tells jokes?'" I read from one scroll.
"Unemployed," he answers immediately.
"'A Pundit.'" I wait for reaction.
His face does something complicated between grimace and amusement. "That's awful."
"That's the point." I tuck the scroll in my pocket with the frog. "The leprechaun values tricks. Bad puns definitely qualify."
"Your standards for treasure are questionable."
"I treasure my new bracelet." I hold up my wrist. "I must have some good taste."
Falla's expression warms in response. He touches my wrist lightly where the bracelet rests against my pulse point, his fingers gentle.
"I suppose you do," he says quietly.
We're standing close enough I can see how the blue and green swirl together in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate slightly when he looks at me. The forest surrounds us with privacy and soft light and the distant sound of other couples laughing through their own hunts.
I want to kiss him. Want to close the small distance and taste his mouth again like yesterday when we made rainbows and everything felt possible.
But he's already stepping back, his hand dropping away from my wrist. Giving me space I didn't ask for.
"We should keep going," he says, voice rougher than before. "Trail's not finished."
Right. The trail. The hunt. The festival activities we're supposed to complete.
I follow him toward the next marker, trying to ignore disappointment settling heavy in my chest. Does he not want to kiss me? Did yesterday mean less to him than it did to me? Maybe I'm reading everything wrong, seeing attraction where he only offers friendship and professional concern.
The next checkpoint contains a rope puzzle—complicated knots we're supposed to untangle together without letting go of the ends. Falla examines it with healer precision, his long fingers working methodically through loops and tangles.
"If you pull that section, the middle should loosen," I suggest, watching the pattern.
He follows my direction and the knot eases incrementally. "Good eye."
We work in synchronization, my hands moving where his can't reach, his strength pulling sections tight enough for me to thread through gaps. The puzzle requires trust—letting each other handle different parts without seeing the full picture, believing the other person knows what they're doing.
Believing we'll solve it together.
The final knot releases and the rope falls into two separate pieces, a small carved token dropping from the center—a wooden heart split down the middle, each half bearing interlocking symbols.
Partnership pieces. Meant to fit together.
Falla picks up one half and hands me the other without comment. The wood is warm from sitting in sunlight, smoothfrom careful carving. When I press my half against his, the symbols align perfectly—two parts of a whole.
"Last checkpoint should be ahead," he says, tucking his half away. "Where the trail ends."
