Easier said than done.
Talia shifts in her sleep, snapping my attention to her. She’s sleeping upright, back against the stone. One arm curled around Rverre. Illadon sits cross-legged at Rverre’s side, his chin onhis chest. He fell asleep sitting guard over her. His grip on his lochaber is loose but present.
I smile. He is young, but brave. He has the makings a fine warrior.
I force myself to focus. Inventory first.
Water stores are within acceptable margins. Packs intact. No signs of disturbance in the sand beyond what we made ourselves. Wind is low but restless—direction inconsistent, which means it will choose badly later.
Talia awakes. She doesn’t move or even open her eyes but I know it. I feel it, hear the change in her breathing. Her eyes open slowly and she stares toward the horizon, expression thoughtful, eyes tracking the way the light fractures against the sand.
She hasn’t noticed me yet, which gives me a moment I don’t want.
Dragoste stirs.
It isn’t a voice. It isn’t a thought. It’s a pressure—low and insistent—like the ground shifting beneath stone that thought itself settled. I lock it down immediately.
No.
This is not the time. This is not the place. Bonds make you careless. They make you choose wrong when choosing wrong means people die. I did not volunteer to indulge my heart.
I volunteered because someone had to walk into open ground with clear eyes and steadier hands than the council could provide. Because the children would move whether escorted or not. Because survival requires action, not consensus.
Be honest. I volunteered because she would be here.
I grind my teeth and turn away, scanning the terrain instead. There are no immediate threats. Yet. Quietly I rise and move a few steps away, trying to decide on our best route.
The suns climb higher, heat beginning its inevitable advance. We will move before the light fully hardens. Delay costs energy we cannot afford. Behind me, fabric rustles.
“You don’t sleep much,” Talia says.
I don’t turn. “I sleep enough.”
She huffs softly, but there is no hint of amusement, only an acknowledgment.
“I thought you might say that.”
I look at her then, measuring. She doesn’t look away. There is no challenge in her gaze and no fear. That is what makes her dangerous. She doesn’t flinch or back away. She sees.
“We move soon,” I say. “Before the heat settles.”
“I know,” she replies. “I was already planning on it.”
Of course she was.
Illadon stirs as if summoned by our voices, blinking awake and pushing himself upright with quiet efficiency. He checks Rverre first, careful not to wake her, then looks to me for confirmation without asking for it.
I nod once.
He mirrors it and begins readying his pack.
Talia watches the exchange closely. She doesn’t interfere. Doesn’t correct. She allows him his competence even when I can clearly see that it costs her peace of mind. That tells me more about her than any argument ever could.
Illadon moves closer to Rverre, movements careful and unhurried. He doesn’t touch her right away. He waits until her breathing shifts, until her body recognizes the change in the air before he ever intrudes on it.
Smart.
He sets the lochaber aside first, placing it flat on the ground where she can see it when she wakes. No sudden absence. No surprise. Then he reaches out and brushes two fingers lightly against the back of her hand.
