Page 33 of Scorched By Fate

I cleared my throat. “Do we even know where this stuff grows?”

“Unstable ground,” he replied, his voice as even and unshaken as his movements. “Anywhere the earth has split wide or the heat vents through cracks. Vyrathis will stand out from the surrounding rock.”

That was frustratingly non-specific. Just vague terrain descriptions paired with every possible hazard the Harrovan Mountains had to offer.

Perfect.

“Helpful,” I said, dry as the air threatening to crack my lips. My sarcasm felt like the only weapon I had left.

It earned nothing more than the faintest glance from him, his brow lifting in unbothered acknowledgment. “Would you like me to conjure the plant from thin air instead?”

"If you could do that, you should have tried three days ago,” I shot back.

The corner of his mouth twitched—so faint that it might’ve been melted into the ambient heat of this place, except I recognized it for what it was. Not quite a smile, not quite not. And damn it, I hated how it sent some small sizzle through me.

This awareness of Vyne was going to be the death of me.

Dragging my attention back to the ridge ahead, I kept my pace steady. The ground was shifting more there, the blackened rock glittering with oppressive heat. Treacherous footing at best. But that’s when I saw it—a shimmer caught in the light, something alive amid this endless stretch of dead stone.

“Wait,” I said, sharper than I meant to. My hand twitched vaguely toward the glint of color as I slowed. “Is that …?”

There was no hesitation in how Vyne moved. Before I could say anything else, he stepped ahead of me, his wings shifting as he assessed the terrain. His claws flexed against the rock, finding safe purchase where I’d struggle.

I followed him anyway. Sitting still had never been my thing, and I wasn’t going to let him handle this alone.

There it was—low and barely there against a black fissure: vyrathis.

Its thin leaves shone with a metallic sheen, curling outward like it had grown in defiance of the oppressive heat swallowing the landscape. The glow of the plant was a small pocket of alien color against the harsh black of the mountainside.

“Shit, that’s it,” I breathed, tension easing just long enough for relief to rush in sharply.

“Careful.” Vyne’s voice came low, guarded. He crouched near the plant, his claws hovering just above the ground. “There’s a gas pocket nearby,” he said, his voice quieter now, his wings pressing outward in readiness. “The ground’s unstable underneath.”

“Great,” I muttered, irritation vibrating louder than fear in my voice. “The one thing we actually need, and the whole mountain’s ready to swallow us for it.”

I crouched down beside him, the vyrathis close enough that I could feel the heat emanating from its fragile leaves. My hand moved toward my pack, fingers brushing against the stiff edge of the container Rachel had given me before we left.

I crouched at the plant’s edge, my fingers gripping the container with care, keeping it angled just right. My free hand moved toward a small tool strapped to my thigh—a sturdy but lightweight blade meant for shearing samples cleanly. I worked quickly, each motion precise as I trimmed the silvery leaves away from the delicate stems.

The air was thinner there, sharper somehow, though I couldn’t tell if it was my mind playing tricks on me or the gas Vyne had warned about seeping up from somewhere deeper in the mountain below. My pulse jumped, but I forced it down. Focus. I didn’t need to think about imaginary disasters when the real ones were waiting just underfoot.

“Selene.”

His voice cut through the thin air. A warning. I froze, my hand hovering mid-motion with the blade angled near one of the stems.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his eyes locked onto the fissure directly beside where I crouched. His wings twitched as the sound of shifting rock rumbled low beneath us.

“Don’t move,” he snapped, firm enough that it left no room for argument.

I froze.

My grip tightened on the container in my hand, and my pulse hammered against the silence stretching between us. Vyne’s claws flexed as he stepped closer. The scrape of rock shifted under his weight, audible even over the heat-warped air squeezing the mountainside.

Vyne was all precision, anchoring into the nearer edge of stone while his tail wrapped around a thicker outcrop behind us for extra support. It was painfully clear just how much stronger his body was than mine—as if the terrain itself bent beneath his touch, unwilling to argue against the force he carried in every movement.

He applied pressure to the fissure nearest the plant, testing it. His wings shifted again, catching currents of air rising from somewhere deeper in the rock. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until he finally straightened and nodded at me.

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