“We’ll make camp and try again in the morning,” Nash says. His voice is too steady, as if he’s going through the motions of what he knows he should do without paying attention to it.
No one argues.
“No tent,” I whisper as Malachi drags the pack from his horse. “I need all of you near me tonight.” What I mean is, Nash is freaking me out and I need all eyes on him while I go get my dragon.
They shift around me, finding the things needed to build a fire and make the area around as comfy as possible.
I fold my arms and stare out at the sinking sun. There, in the distance, is the shadow I’m looking for. Huge, undeniable, mine.
The temperature drops with the last rays of daylight. The fire crackles, drawing us all closer. We sit in a loose circle and share the few bits of food we have left, but I barely taste it.
Nash has positioned himself across from me, the darkness in his eyes dancing with the embers flicking into the night. I stare back, daring him to act on whatever is happening. He doesn’t. The ever-dependable and restrained Nash Stirling doesn’t lose control.
We’ll see about that. I can’t have these walls between us as I fight the Idols.
Build them as high and deep as you like. Nothing will stop me from loving you.
He glances away as if my love burns him. My jaw tics as I lean back to stare at the open sky and stars beginning to pierce the dark. The stars he claimed me from. How soon he forgets he’s the reason I breathe.
The flames dance higher, but they are nothing like Theo’s. These are tame. Obedient. Containable. And utterly wrong.
A yawn sneaks up on me. I try to swallow it and fail. My jaw stretches wide. Hart yawns. Then Malachi. Nash resists for a full five seconds before it drags him under, too.
“Why do we catch yawns?” I wonder.
“Contagion,” Hart says.
“That is not an explanation.”
“It’s instinctive,” Malachi offers.
“No,” I say, frowning at the fire. “It’s a secret plot.”
“To what end?” Nash asks dryly.
“To measure vulnerability,” I reply without hesitation. “When you yawn, you expose your teeth. Your throat. Your lungs. It’s clearly a surveillance tactic to see who is the weakest in the pack.”
Hart blinks. “That is?—”
“Also,” I continue, warming to my assertion, “it could be ancient dragon magic. Dragons breathe fire. Humans breathe yawns. We’re mimicking them subconsciously to prove we’re not a threat.”
Malachi rubs his temples. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m theorizing.”
Nash’s mouth twitches. Finally, he cracks. “There is a study,” he says, “that suggests it’s empathy.”
“That’s worse,” I decide. “You mean to tell me my body just volunteered to feel someone else’s exhaustion without consent?”
“Yes.”
“Rude.”
Hart laughs softly, the sound steadying something in me.
I glance at Nash again. He’s staring into the fire, but not seeing it. “Which Idols are in the library?”
The question hangs. We never clarified. Four of them in the Hallows. Doing what? There are narratives with higher stakes, like the Hansel and Gretel one, and then those with a softer tone, like Beauty and the Beast.
