He nods, accepting the answer without pushing. Bless him for that. Rverre steps closer, peering up at me.
“You were loud.”
My stomach dips. “Loud?”
“In your sleep,” she clarifies. “Then quiet again.”
I force a smile that feels convincing enough. “Bad habit.”
She studies me for a second longer than I like, then turns away, attention drifting back to the ground beneath her feet. Crisis averted.
For now.
As I finish my checks my awareness catches on the empty space where someone should be. Where someone always positions himself with an eye on the horizon and his back to stone, except he isn’t there.
Relief and something like disappointment collide in my chest, leaving me oddly unbalanced. Good, I tell myself. You don’t need?—
Movement at the edge of my vision cuts the thought cleanly in half.
Korr emerges from beyond the rise, moving with purpose, scanning as he walks. He looks… ready. As if the desert never stopped being his problem to solve. His gaze flicks over the group—children first, then me—quick and assessing, before returning to the horizon.
No comment. No reference to last night. That should make this easier, but it doesn’t.
I drop my eyes and reach for my pack, lifting it with more force than necessary. If I keep moving, keep doing, I won’t have to think about the way he said my name. Or the way he looked at me when I snapped at him like he’d done something wrong by noticing I was breaking.
We fall into motion without discussion. Packs on. Lines forming. The fragile pause of night dissolving back into purpose.
As we step out of the hollow and into the open sand, I tell myself—firmly and repeatedly—that today is about the journey. About the children. About the city that may or may not exist.
Not about the massive, emerald alien man walking a few paces ahead of me. Not about the way distance suddenly feels like something I’m actively choosing instead of something that simply exists. Not about how much harder that choice is becoming with every step.
The terrain turns against us almost immediately.
The sand loosens underfoot as we crest the shallow rise, giving way to a slanted stretch that looks firmer than it is. The surface holds just long enough to invite confidence, then shifting and stealing traction with quiet malice.
I adjust my stride, shortening it, angling my weight the way I was taught when footing becomes optional. It helps. A little.
The wind picks up from behind us, warm and dry, carrying grit that stings when it catches bare skin. Not dangerous yet, but insistent.
Korr signals a tighter formation without breaking stride. A subtle shift of his arm. A change in pace. Illadon responds instantly, drifting closer to Rverre, positioning his body so the worst of the wind hits his back instead of her face.
I see him. I always. He’s growing up too fast. Or not. He is of an age to be becoming ‘aware’ of girls as different for sure, but there is more between the two of them than that alone. The first two hybrid children, they’ve learned to rely on each other and share a connection I can only pretend to understand.
We move in this formation for a while, careful not to burn strength too early. The suns climb higher, the light flattening everything into glare and shadow. Sweat trickles down my spine, dampening the fabric of my cloak. My mouth is already dry again.
I reach for my canteen and take a sip, careful not to waste any. As I lower it, my boot slides.
It’s not dramatic, no flailing, just a sudden, sickening loss of purchase as the sand gives way beneath my weight and my balance tips forward.
I have time to register it. To think,I’ve got it.
I don’t.
A hand closes around my forearm—strong, unyielding—and hauls me back into alignment before I can even gasp. The contact is brief, efficient, and entirely too real. Heat flashes up my arm, awareness snapping sharp and immediate.
I’m suddenly very close to him. Too close.
Korr releases me at once, already turning back toward the path ahead as if nothing happened.
