Page 36 of Ash and Burn

"That's excellent memory, Essin," she said warmly. "This helps us tremendously."

The girl looked puzzled, her blue eyes moving between Arvid and Calix with growing concern. "You think I got sick from one of those things?"

The question carried such innocent worry that Arvid felt her chest tighten. Here was a twelve-year-old child who should be focusing on games and friendships, not contemplating whether traditional foods had made her critically ill.

"We don't know yet," Arvid said honestly. "But we're working very hard to find out, and hopefully very soon we'll be able to help you feel completely better."

Essin's face brightened. "That would be the best birthday present ever. My birthday's next week."

Next week.

The timeline felt impossibly compressed, but Arvid managed to keep her expression encouraging rather than overwhelmed. She couldn't promise miracles, couldn't guarantee they'd have answers and treatments ready within days, but she could offer hope.

"I'll do everything in my power to make that happen," Arvid said, meaning every word.

Calix stepped forward slightly, his voice carrying gentle authority. "I think we should let Essin get some rest now."

Arvid nodded, rising from her chair and touching the girl's hand briefly. "Stay brave, sweetheart. We'll be back to check on you soon."

Essin's smile could have powered half of Ashvorn, bright and trusting and full of the resilience that made children such formidable patients. As they left her room, Arvid felt her resolve crystallize into something approaching steel.

One week.

She would find the answer, develop the treatment, and give this child her birthday wish if it killed her.

The corridor outside Essin's room felt charged with possibility and urgency in equal measure, the interview having provided exactly the kind of focused direction Arvid needed to channel her restless energy into productive action.

The afternoon stretched into evening as they moved methodically through the patient wing, each interview adding another piece to an increasingly complex puzzle. Arvid's datapad filled with testimonies that should have provided clarity but instead created a web of contradictions. Some patients remembered the ember-root stew, others recalled the crystallized fire-fruit. But two items appeared in nearly every account, mentioned with the casual certainty of long-standing tradition: flame-kissed bread and flameroot tea.

Arvid stared at her notes as they left the final patient room, her scientific mind automatically sorting the data into patterns and probabilities. The numbers didn't lie—these two items appeared in over ninety percent of the interviews, far beyond statistical coincidence.

"Those items have been served for centuries," Calix said, reading her expression with unnerving accuracy. "It makes sense that people would consume them at gatherings. They're staples."

"That's exactly the problem," Arvid replied, frustration creeping into her voice. "If these foods have been safely consumed for generations, why now? What changed four months ago to transform traditional ingredients into poison?"

The question hung between them like a challenge to the natural order of Ashvorn itself. Calix's jaw tightened, his green eyes reflecting the same frustration that gnawed at her. Here was a man accustomed to finding solutions through decisive action, confronting a problem that refused to yield to authority or determination.

"Something in the preparation changed. Or the sourcing. Or the combination of ingredients. There has to be a variable we haven't identified," Calix said, his frustration mounting.

Her body thrummed with the need to return to the lab immediately. But when she turned toward the lab building, Calix's hand touched her elbow with gentle authority.

"It's after dinner time," he said softly. "You need to eat something substantial and get proper rest. Besides, the lab team said it would take time to complete the ingredient analysis."

Arvid opened her mouth to protest, her instincts screaming against the delay, but the words died when she caught sight of his expression. There was concern there, genuine and unguarded, the kind of attention to her wellbeing that she hadn't experienced in years. It should have irritated her—this assumption that he knew what was best for her physical needs. Instead, it sent warmth through her.

"I suppose we have hit a temporary standstill," she admitted reluctantly, the words tasting like defeat even though she knew they were rational.

His smile was small but devastatingly warm. "Exactly. And you can't solve Ashvorn's crisis running on fumes."

The walk back to Ashspire felt longer than usual, her body finally acknowledging the accumulated fatigue of the past few days. She hadn't slept properly since leaving Earth, her mind too wired with the combination of alien environments, medical mysteries, and her increasingly complicated feelings about the man walking beside her. The adrenaline that had sustained her through patient interviews was beginning to ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that made her steps feel heavy.

Calix must have noticed her flagging energy because his pace slowed, matching her rhythm without making it obvious. The consideration was so subtle she might have missed it if she hadn't been hyperaware of his every movement.

"How about when we get back, you rest for a while," he suggested, his voice carefully casual. "I'll prepare dinner while you nap."

"That sounds reasonable," she said, surprised by her own acquiescence.

This man cares about me.