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“Agnar.” I stare at the flames. “When that cold sensation passes through… It feels…” I struggle to articulate.

“Dead.” He must have been thinking the same thing and was waiting for me to voice my observation first.

I glance at him. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to.” He adds another branch to the fire. “It’s not just cold. Cold is the absence of heat. This is an absence of everything.”

I don’t give myself time to second-guess or worry about whether I should be saying this. “The Wardens have stories about the boundary between life and death growing thin in places.”

“And?” His eyes gleam. “What do the stories say about how to stop it?”

I shrug because I have no idea.

Concern for Agnar claws at my stomach. He has no problems fighting men or animals, but when it comes to beings of a magical nature, I’m certain he won’t fare so well.

I’ll have to protect him from those creatures myself.

“I’m not sure.” Familiar embarrassment over my lack of knowledge colors my cheeks. “I haven’t gotten to that part in my studies yet. I couldn’t even translate the whole story about the Hollow Ones.”

Agnar shrugs like he finds my ineptitude perfectly acceptable. “So we find the Everhand, stop the Withering, drive the Hollow Ones back to wherever they came from, and the elders can do the rest.”

“Simple.” My smile is forced.

“Never said it would be easy.” He stretches, rolling his shoulders. “Just said we’ll do it.”

The fire crackles, and night birds chirp from the trees. The forest sounds normal and alive.

In this brief moment, I believe.

I believe in him. In us. We’re a team. Together, it seems like we can do anything.

Agnar sits beside me, his thigh touching mine. He removes a blanket from his bedroll and bundles us into it. “Better?”

I nod because speaking proves impossible.

In all honesty, I want more. I want to curl into Agnar’s side, to have his hands on me the way they were that night after the alicorn. I want him to watch me with the same naked desire as when I walked out of the water and he thought his interest went unnoticed.

I lean closer to press my side more firmly against his. The blanket rustles, and his hand dangles over my shoulder. His fingers almost brush the top curve of my breast through my tunic.

My breath hitches.

What if I were a little braver? What if I made a pass at him? Exhaling, I relax my shoulders and fidget, anticipating Agnar’s hand lowering that last bit to touch me.

His hand shifts.

Away.

He adjusts his hold on me to keep everything platonic.

The rejection burns like one of Veradin’s acidic potions.

He doesn’t want me. Whatever attraction he felt before has vanished, and I can’t say I blame him. After days of watching me fail at basic tasks, stumble through conversations, and struggle with how to respond to teasing, why would he still find me desirable?

Now that he knows me, he’s no longer interested.

But I’m weak, and he’s strong. I’m selfish enough to accept any comfort he offers, even if it’s only friendship. It’s more than anything I’ve ever had before.

So I sit with him in companionable silence and gaze at the fire. And I’ll continue pretending my heart isn’t breaking over an injury he has no idea he inflicted.