He doesn’t react to my tone or respond further. He just turns and starts moving, not fast, not even checking if I’m following, just… going.
Good. Let him go. That solves the problem. Except?—
I look around the tunnel we’re in and realize I really don’t know where I am. Tajss is dangerous, and going out in the desert alone is a death sentence in the best of circumstances. I don’t know what’s out there, but whatever he saw he believed it wasn’t safe.
And that certainty hasn’t cracked once.
I swear under my breath and push forward, climbing after him before I can overthink it.
I’m all but crawling as I make my way up the slope. The sand shifts under my hands, loose at first, then packing tighter the higher I go. He’s already near the top, moving like the ground isn’t trying to slide out from under him. He reaches the ceiling and it breaks open, letting the double red suns’ light and heat pour in.
I reach the opening a second later and the world opens up. Heat slams onto me and the light is blinding. The endless red and white striated sand stretches in every direction, broken only by the rise and fall of dunes and distant rock formations that shimmer.
Too exposed. Too open. The ground shifts. I feel it before I see it.
The sand beneath my feet loosens, the surface giving way as the slope destabilizes under my weight. My balance goes fast. Too fast to recover cleanly. My foot sinks, the rest of me following as the sand slides, dragging me down with it.
“Damn it?—”
I twist, trying to dig in, to find something solid but there isn’t anything. The dune gives. The entire face of it collapsing in a slow, heavy rush. Then he’s there.
His arm catches around my waist, hard enough to stop my fall, but controlled enough not to crush the air out of me. The force of it yanks me sideways, out of the worst of the slide, pulling me against him as the sand continues to cascade past where I was standing a second ago.
My breath punches out anyway.
“Let go?—”
I twist against him on instinct, trying to regain my footing, but he doesn’t release me. He shifts his stance instead, bracing against the ground, positioning himself between me and the sliding sand.
He’s shielding me.
The realization explodes. The dune continues to give way for another few seconds, sand pouring down in a heavy, relentless sheet before it finally slows, settling into a new, unstable slope. He doesn’t move or let me go until the ground stops shifting.
Then—slowly—he loosens his grip. Not all the way. Just enough that I can stand on my own. I pull back immediately, creating space. Needing space. My heart is hammering from the sudden drop.
“I had that,” I say automatically.
A lie and we both know it. He doesn’t call me on it or react at all. His attention is moving, scanning the surrounding terrain, tracking something I can’t see.
I glance at the slope. The section I was standing on is gone. Completely collapsed into a loose, unstable spill of sand that would have taken me with it. Farther than I expected. Harder than I could have stopped.
My stomach tightens. He saw that coming before I did. I look at him. He’s scanning the horizon, body angled slightly in front of me again, not touching, but close enough that I can feel the space he’s holding.
Not controlling. Protecting. My pulse slows a fraction. It’s not trust, not even close, but something shifts.
“You knew that was going to happen,” I say.
His gaze flicks back to me.
“Yes.”
No hesitation and no explanation, just a fact. I look at the collapsed dune then back at him. He’s not guessing; he’s reading this place in a way I can’t. And whether I like it or not that matters.
The wind shifts, carrying heat and something sharper beneath it, sand and grit lifted just enough to sting where it hits. I turn into it, squinting as it drags across my face and see that he’s already adjusted. He shifts his stance without apparent thought, angling so his body breaks the worst of it before it reaches me. Still not close enough to touch or to trap, but just enough to protect. And it is intentional.
I notice, but I don’t comment.
I brush sand from my arms again, more out of habit than necessity, then let my hands fall. Silence stretches between us. It’s less sharp, but still tense. I study him again, this time without the urgency from before.
