“Define ‘good,’” I say. “But… yeah. We’re moving.”
A weak laugh escapes her. “Stay in touch.”
The call ends, and the silence afterward feels thicker than the heat. Beside me, Kael looks up from his phone, and for a second we just stand there, breathing hard, eyes locked on each other in a way that makes my chest tighten even more.
“So?” he asks.
“You heard.” I adjust the straps biting into my shoulders. “Ten hours to Paradise if we cut through trails. Fourteen if we stick to the road. So we walk, and hope someone finds us before we have to leave it.”
Kael nods. “I posted on all my socials. Maybe someone from the internet…”
“Maybe,” I say, though we both know how thin that hope is.
We start moving again. Gravel crunches under our shoes in a broken rhythm. My mind spirals deeper with every fire spread chart, wind pattern, and evacuation timeline I read on my phone. Every statistic I pull up knots my stomach tighter. I tuck the screen away before the numbers can spill out of my mouth.
Kael stays quiet beside me while his thumbs hover over his phone without typing.
“We’ll be okay,” I say.
It comes out exactly like it did to Chase.
“Yeah.” Kael’s eyes stay on his phone. “Sure.”
When he finally looks up, his face has changed. The dimples are gone, hollowed into something tired and sad, and an absurd, reckless urge flares to pull him in, feel his chest against mine, press my face to the warm curve of his neck, and tell himwe’re safe, we’ll make it, I’ve got you.
Terror should have burned this out of me, but all it’s done is leave me raw enough to feel it and not nearly brave enough to act on it. I don’t even know how to open the pocketknife clipped to my belt.
I curl my fingers into fists, nails biting into my palms, and cling to fear and math and anything but the fact that I want someone I barely know.
My gaze drops to his screen, grateful for the out. He’s hovering over a message thread.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
He flicks the screen away, slapping on a smirk I know is fake because his dimples are still nowhere to be found. I barely know him. I shouldn’t care who he’s texting.
“It’s Alistair,” he says.
CHAPTER 11
KAEL
Ash’s reaction is jarring.I recognize that kind of naive excitement. I remember when Alistair first offered his patronage. I felt special. Honored. That feeling curdled fast. Now, every time his name lights up my phone, I don’t think about art. I think about what it will cost.
“He says he can help,” I manage, mouth gone dry.
“Ha! Of course he can help!” Ash throws his arms wide, missing the way I flinch. “I’m calling a friend in Fresno, and you’re texting a billionaire. We’re golden.”
I shrug, the paint box and half-finished canvas dragging at my arms.
“Tell me we can stop,” Ash pants, hitching his pack higher. “What are you doing?”
I keep walking and watching the red blotch on the fire tracker spread like cancer. The dirt road is framed on all sides by the dry, beautiful fuel of pine, brush, and wildflowers waiting to burn.
“It’s close,” he says, leaning in over my shoulder to state the obvious.
“It hasn’t even reached the lake,” I say.
“And when it does, it’ll be right on top of us. No airlift through that.”
