Page 7 of Zachary

That’s okay. I don’t need to be his best friend.

But it does mean that if Garrett’s not with us, our days are mostly spent in silence. At first, that was fine. Monday, we came back to town to look something up, only to find out Cam had been kidnapped. Then, Tuesday and Wednesday, while we were still waiting for the satellite hookup to be organized, the day was a mess of Ronan needing to get back to cell access and being teleport sick every single time. It usually gets better the more often someone is teleported, but either dragons are an exception to that, or he’s faking it for sympathy.

He won’t get any from me.

So yeah, by the time Thursday rolled around and we finally had internet access in the cave and didn’t have to travel back and forth so much, I was glad for the peace and quiet. I set myself up in one of the folding chairs and got back to reading some of the journal articles I’ve fallen behind on with all the chaos lately. Winter is usually the time I write my research findings and read everyone else’s. For all that Grandmother and the village council seem to think I’m just a glorified woodsman, I’m actually a pretty respected geologist and botanist. My research in these mountains has been published in several peer-reviewed journals.

Now, though, it’s midafternoon on Saturday, and I don’t think Ronan’s spoken a single word all day. Last night he said “Thank you” when I took him home, but thinking back on it, that might have been the only thing he said to me yesterday. I might like being alone in the outdoors, where I have nature and animals to keep me company, but Iamstill a people person. I grew up in a big, noisy family, and I’m used to having people drop in to see me and chat and ask favors most days. This silence is starting to get on my nerves.

Plus, it’s Saturday. I’m drawing the fucking line.

Slapping the magazine I just finished reading down on the trestle table beside me, I stand and call, “Ronan?” as I walktoward the vault. My setup isn’t that far outside, but we’ve made sure to leave clear the area needed for the door to close—we close it every night, remove the handle, and take it with us. It’s incredibly unlikely that anyone would come here, especially in winter—but we’re taking no chances with the contents of the vault.

Garrett, in his role as project coordinator, drew up a security plan for when we’re working and had Gideon review it. The main part of the plan is that only authorized people have access to the cave and vault. The door is to be closed when the cave is unattended, with the handle removed to “lock” it. There’s another whole procedure about how and where the handle can be stored overnight. The only people permitted to have possession of the handle are Ronan, Garrett, Cam, or, in the event of them being incapacitated, me. However, I’m not permitted to enter the vault itself unless Ronan needs my assistance or I need to remove an unauthorized person who somehow got in.

This is serious business.

Some people might not think we discovered treasure, but the historical artefacts Ronan’s found and documented in just a few days are priceless beyond words. Some of them are from a settlement in Patagonia that was considered a center of knowledge and learning for our community—right up until it was destroyed during the species wars. Nobody’s going to risk damage or theft to this treasure.

I stop at the threshold to the vault. “Ronan?” I call again. I know he heard me the first time. The cave is big, but I wasn’t that far away, and it’s quiet in here.

A second later, he appears from the shadows at the back of the vault. Can dragons see in the dark? What was he doing back there?

“Yes?” He doesn’t quite meet my gaze and stops walking when he’s still ten feet away.

“Time for us to go.” I don’t waste any effort on pleasantries, and it’s satisfying to see his blink of surprise. He looks at the iPad in his hands.

“But it’s only three o’clock.”

“On a Saturday. There’s only so much work I’m willing to do on a weekend.” That’s not strictly true, but he doesn’t need to know that. “We’ll come back Monday morning.”

“Monday?” His protest is loud. “What about tomorrow?”

“Weekend,” I remind him. “Days off. Use the time to remind people how thrilled you are to be here.”

Ronan’s eyes narrow as my sarcasm hits home. For a second, I think he’s going to say something, argue, but then he takes a deep breath. “Fine. Just let me put away the artefact I was examining.” He turns to go back the way he came.

“In the dark?” My skepticism is clear. “If you’re sitting back there sulking about how much you hate it here, I don’t care, but don’t keep me waiting too long.”

For the first time since I met him, the unhappy expression completely falls away, replaced by something else: rage. He gestures, and suddenly there’s a glowing light in front of him. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen—the light seems to be completely contained within a radius of about ten inches, ending sharply, not disrupting the shadows on the other side at all. It’s like the perfect directional light tool.

“The preservation spells are excellent, but we don’t know the effect too much light might have on some of these artefacts,” Ronan says. “Until everything has been identified, I thought it best to take precautions.”

He walks away while I’m still trying to find words.

The annoying knowledgethat I need to apologize to Ronan is still gnawing at me hours later as I finish eating dinner. When I got home, the house was already brimming with the amazing smell of Älplermagronen. Cam fell in love with the dish after trying it at the pub, and today he attempted to make it himself—and did a pretty good job.

I scrape up the last of the potato, eat it, and say, “Happy to be your guinea pig anytime, Cam.”

He grins at me, but it’s not quite right. He’s been acting a little odd ever since I got home. Maybe he’s still feeling the effects of having been kidnapped by his stalker earlier this week.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he assures me, swiping his mop of curls out of his eyes. “Now, I believe there’s a rule about the cook not having to do the washing up.”

“That’s fair.” It’s definitely a rule I enforce when I do the cooking—which is a lot. I like to cook, though sometimes it doesn’t always work out the way I plan. “Go put your feet up, and we’ll handle this.”

“I need Garrett,” he says hurriedly, gaze darting to Micah and then back to me. “For, um… stuff.”

Okay… that’s not weird at all.

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