FALLA
The fire's burned low, conversation settling into drowsy satisfaction as clan members begin drifting toward their homes. Ressa's weight against my shoulder has grown heavier over the past hour, her responses to Saela's stories coming slower and softer.
I glance down and catch her fighting a yawn, her brown eyes heavy-lidded in firelight.
"Ready to head back?" I ask quietly, not wanting to embarrass her by pointing out her exhaustion to everyone.
She nods, straightening with visible effort. "Yeah. Long day."
We say our goodbyes—Kai giving me a knowing look I ignore, Saela hugging Ressa with genuine affection, Ursik already half-asleep against Kerra's shoulder. The walk toward Ressa's cabin feels longer in darkness, the path lit only by scattered torches marking the way.
She doesn't pull away when I take her hand. Just laces our fingers together like it's natural, like we've been doing this for years instead of days.
"I had fun this week," I say, the words coming easier than expected. "More than I thought I would."
Ressa's laugh carries warmth that has nothing to do with alcohol this time. "Me too. I didn't think I could feel this way again."
"What way?"
"Light." She squeezes my hand. "Like I'm not just carrying weight everywhere I go. Like there's space for joy instead of just survival."
My chest tightens at her honesty, at the trust it takes to say something that vulnerable. "You deserve more than survival."
"I'm starting to believe that." She pauses, then continues quieter. "This week healed something in me. Made me remember I'm more than what happened to me."
We reach her cabin too quickly, the small structure appearing between trees with its simple porch and dark windows. I should go. Should let her rest, give her space to process everything. Should probably think about what happens now that the festival's over and I don't have built-in excuses to see her every day.
Should definitely not be imagining ways to create new excuses.
"Thanks for walking me back," Ressa says, turning to face me on the porch. The torchlight catches in her red hair, painting copper highlights across freckled skin. "And for everything this week. For being patient with me."
"You don't have to thank me for basic decency."
"Maybe not. But I want to anyway."
I start to step back, to put proper distance between us before I do something stupid like ask if I can see her tomorrow. And the day after. And every day until she gets sick of me showing up.
Ressa's hand catches my shirt, stopping my retreat. Then she's rising on her toes and kissing me with intent that burns away any pretense of casual goodbye.
Her mouth tastes like honey mead and determination. I respond automatically, my hands finding her waist to steady us both. She makes a soft sound against my lips and deepens the kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair to pull me closer.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Come inside," she whispers against my mouth. "Please."
Every professional instinct screams warnings about moving too fast, about making sure she's ready, about not taking advantage of someone still healing from trauma. But the want in her eyes matches the heat spreading through my veins, the way her pulse races visible in her throat.
"Are you sure?" My voice comes out rough.
"I've never been more sure of anything."
She pulls me toward the door and I follow because I'm apparently incapable of denying her anything. The cabin's interior is dark and quiet, familiar from my many medical visits but feeling completely different now. This isn't healer and patient. This is something else entirely.
Ressa lights a single candle, the flame casting dancing shadows across sparse furnishings. Then she's kissing me again, backing toward her bedroom with clear intention.
"Your injuries," I manage between kisses. "Your shoulder?—"
"Is fine. The salve worked. Everything's healed enough."
