Page 31 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Her hands clench into fists on her knees.

“And it wasn’t,” I whisper.

“No.” Her eyes lift, sharp and cold. “We walked into a trap. Bandits came down from the cliffs, arrows raining on us from both sides. Horses panicked. The caravan splintered. Garrick and I fought back-to-back, cutting through them as best we could.”

I can see it in my mind—Roan, sword flashing, surrounded by chaos. And beside her, someone I’ll never know.

“We were holding our own,” she continues. “Until Garrick went down. I heard him hit the ground. Turned in time to see them dragging him toward the tree line.”

Her throat works as she swallows.

“I went after him. Cut through five of them before I sawhim.” Her voice turns sharp, brittle. “Vire. Standing on the ridge above us. Watching it all. Never lifted a finger. Just smiled and turned away.”

My pulse races. “He set you up?”

“Yeah. The cargo we were guarding? Empty crates. The merchant? One of Vire’s men. The caravan was bait. Garrick and I were the real prize.” Her lips curl in disgust. “Turns out the crew we’d stopped a few months earlier had put a bounty on our heads. Vire cashed in.”

The fire crackles. I feel its heat against my face, but the rest of me has gone cold. “Did you find Garrick?”

Roan nods slowly. “I got to him right after they slit his throat.” Her voice fractures on the last word, and she looks away.

I suck in a shaky breath. “Gods.”

“I buried him there.” Her eyes shimmer faintly in the firelight. “Used his sword to dig the grave.”

I reach out, hesitating only for a breath before my fingers find her hand. It’s warm, solid beneath mine, rough with callouses. A warrior’s hand. A survivor’s hand. I give it a gentle squeeze, hoping she knows I mean it, that Iseeher.

Roan goes still. Her fingers twitch beneath mine, just the slightest movement, like she isn’t sure whether to pull away or hold on. For a moment, she doesn’t look at me—her gaze fixed on the fire, the glow flickering in her dark eyes. Then, with a slow inhale, she turns her hand over, her calloused palm pressing lightly against mine before she lets go.

Her jaw flexes. “I should’ve seen it coming. I knew Vire was trouble. Garrick trusted me to watch his back.”

“You did,” I say fiercely. “You fought for him.”

“Not fast enough.” She swipes a hand over her face. “After that, I stopped taking partners for a while. Figured it was safer that way.”

The weight of those words sinks in. I’ve wondered why Roan is so guarded, why she always looks over her shoulder. Now I know.

I shift, moving around the fire to sit beside her. I don’t touch her again—just sit there, close enough for warmth to bleed through the inches between us.

“You let me stay,” I murmur.

Roan exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Didn’t have much of a choice. You were half-dead when I found you.”

“Is that really the reason?”

She hesitates, eyes locked on the fire. “You’re different.”

The words settle in my chest like a fragile, precious thing.

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Her fingers graze the scar on her forearm. “You don’t feel like a job. Or a mistake.”

My breath catches. The moment stretches, unspoken possibilities threading through the air.

The fire pops, sending a spark skyward.

Roan shifts, clearing her throat. “Anyway. Garrick was the last real partner I had.”

---