Levi leans back. “No? Why would he?”
“Because Kitara’s gone.”
Levi scratches his head. “Lithia, what are you talking about?”
I frown. “Kitara. She’s dead.”
“Who told you that?”
“Zella.” I straighten. “Are you saying?—?”
He reaches across and places a hand on my knee. “Kitara is alive and well. Zella is a liar.”
The relief that floods through me is so powerful it makes my chest ache. All this time, all these months thinking she was gone, that I’d failed her completely—and she’s alive. The weight of that guilt suddenly lifts, leaving me dizzy with emotion.
I close my eyes, breathing deeply.
She’s alive.
“I should check the perimeter,” Kier announces, rising smoothly to his feet.
I recognize what he’s doing—giving us space, though the slight tightening around his eyes betrays his discomfort at leaving me alone with Levi.
“I’ve already secured the area,” Levi says, not bothering to hide his distaste with Kier.
I try not to roll my eyes.
“I guess I’ll go for a stroll then,” Kier replies with a casual shrug, before disappearing into the darkness beyond our camp.
The moment he’s gone, Levi turns to me fully. “I don’t like him.”
His bluntness shouldn’t surprise me—Levi has never been one for subtlety—but I find myself unprepared for it nonetheless.
“Kier saved my life,” I say carefully. “We survived together. I owe him a debt.”
His lips curl back. “So you’re fucking him to repay that debt?”
“Levi!” I stand, turning from him. “If these cuffs were off, you’d be on the ground paying for that.”
He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry. I just… Lithia. It’s been three months.”
“Levi—”
“Three months,” he cuts in, his voice tight. “Three months of not knowing if you were alive or dead. Of imagining what they might be doing to you. I searched every cave, every abandoned building, followed every whispered rumor.”
His hand finds mine, gripping with an intensity that borders on painful. “I never stopped looking. Not for a single day.”
The raw need in his voice resonates in my chest. Levi and I have a history—not romantic, but something deeper than simple friendship. We’ve trained together, fought together, protected the pack side by side for years. There had always been potential for more, an undercurrent of possibility we never fully acknowledged.
“I know,” I say softly. “And I’m grateful.”
“Grateful,” he repeats, the word bitter on his tongue. “I didn’t do it for your gratitude, Lithia.”
Before I can respond, he releases my hand and stands. “Get some rest. We leave at dawn.”
I watch him move to the opposite side of the camp, his broad shoulders tense beneath his shirt. The space he leaves behind feels colder somehow, heavy with unspoken words and expectations I’m not sure I can meet.
When Kier returns from his circuit, he says nothing about Levi’s mood, simply settles beside me with a respectful distance between us—close enough for comfort, far enough for propriety.
