“Would you? In my position?”
A pause. Then, quietly: “No. I suppose I wouldn’t.”
He settles against one of the boulders, positioning himself where he can see the approach but also where I can see him. Making himself visible. Accountable.
“Wake me in four hours,” he says. “We’ll switch.”
I don’t respond. Don’t agree. Just find my own position against the opposite boulder and stare into the darkness, fighting to keep my eyes open while exhaustion drags at every muscle.
I make it two hours before my head starts to nod. Jerk awake with a gasp, shadow-flame erupting instinctively.
Zyphon hasn’t moved. His eyes are open, watching the trees rather than me.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” I snap.
“I know.” No accusation in his voice. No judgment. “I’ve been keeping watch anyway. Just in case.”
The admission should make me angry. Should feel like a violation of the agreement we didn’t actually make. Instead, something in my chest loosens—just slightly—at the realization that he’s been protecting me even while I refused to let him.
I hate that too.
The worst partis my magic.
My shadow-flame has a mind of its own around him. Keeps reaching toward his darkness without my permission, tendrils of dark fire curling in his direction whenever he gets close. I yank it back every time, forcing the flame to heel, but it’s exhausting. Like trying to hold back a tide.
He notices. Of course, he notices.
“Your fire,” he says on the second day, as we pause to refill his leather water sack from a stream. “It’s responding to what’s inside me.”
“I’m aware.” I don’t look at him. Don’t want to see whatever expression he’s wearing. “I’m controlling it.”
“You’re fighting it. That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s what I have.”
“They share an origin. Your shadow-flame and my shadows. Both were created the same night, by the same dark magic. That’s why they recognize each other.”
“You’ve said that before.” I tie the water container with more force than necessary. “The night I died.”
“Yes.”
“And you still won’t tell me what happened.”
“I’ve told you what I can.” His voice is careful. Measured. “Your brother betrayed you. The Shadow Clan used your death to bind this darkness to me. I killed him for what he did.”
“That’s not the whole truth.”
“No.” He meets my gaze, and the rawness there makes my breath catch. “But the rest... you have to remember yourself.”
I don’t have an answer for that. Don’t want to examine it too closely.
We keep walking.
EIGHT
NASYRA
He starts talking on the third day.
