“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. The brief contact had sent something jolting through my chest, a spark I hadn’t felt in years. If ever. I kept my eyes on the machinery, not trusting myself to look at her.
We finished the repair in silence.
That afternoon,I showed her the perimeter positions I’d been mapping in my head.
Not a full briefing on defenses. Just observations. The places where the terrain created natural choke points. The sightlines from the ridges. The approaches that would funnel any assault into predictable paths.
She listened intently. Added her own knowledge. The seasonal flooding patterns I wouldn’t have known about. Theunstable ground near the old mines. The way the wind shifted at sunset, affecting visibility and sound.
“If they come from the south,” she said, pointing to my rough map scratched in the dirt, “they’ll bunch up at this gulley. The sides are too steep to climb quickly.”
“Good place for a deterrent. Something loud, to drive them toward the eastern approach.”
“Where you’ll be waiting.”
“Where I’ll be waiting.”
She studied the map. I studied her. The way her brow furrowed when she was thinking. The small scar at the corner of her eyebrow, almost invisible unless you were looking for it. The strength in her hands, calloused and capable.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
She met my eyes then. The air between us felt heavier. I could see the pulse in her throat, steady and strong.
I wanted to touch it. Press my thumb there and feel her heartbeat against my skin.
I didn’t.
“I’m not,” I admitted.
She held my gaze. Something flickered in her green eyes, something I couldn’t read. Then she looked back at the map.
“The processing station,” she said. “I should show you the vault mechanism tonight. Before anything happens.”
“Agreed.”
“After dinner.”
“After dinner.”
Dinner was the same simple food she’d been making all week. Roasted vegetables from her garden, cured meat from the smokehouse. She’d stopped apologizing for the plainness of itafter I’d told her, truthfully, that it was better than anything I’d eaten in years.
We ate at the kitchen table, Turnip sprawled across the doorway. The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky in fiery colors.
“Tell me about them,” Anhara said. “Your team.”
I looked up from my plate. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything.” She pushed a piece of bread around her plate. “You’ve been alone here for days, but you’re not alone out there. You have people. I want to understand who I’m trusting with... this.”
With her life. With Torek’s legacy. She didn’t say it, but I heard it anyway.
So I told her.
