Page 45 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Doesn’t matter.It can’t matter.

She’s still in danger. We both are. And whatever this is—whatever’s clawing its way up through the cracks in my self-control—it only complicates things.

I rise to my feet and grip the hilt of my sword hard enough to hurt, staring out into the trees where she vanished minutes ago. The shadows stretch long, dusk bleeding into darkness.

“Don’t be stupid, Roan,” I whisper.

I turn back to camp, crouching by the fire pit and reinforcing the ring of stones. Clearing dried pine needles. Busy work—quiet, methodical. The kind of thing I’ve done a hundred times in a hundred camps.

But my thoughts drift, unbidden. Back to Aria’s stories of her clan—of their cruelty, their rituals, the ice in her mother’s eyes. The way her voice would go quiet when she talked about the ones she left behind.

If they comeand I have to defend her against an entire clan—what then?

I shove the thought away.One step at a time.

By the time Aria returns, arms cradling a small pile of branches, I’ve refreshed our fire pit. She offers me a tentative smile, which I can’t help but return.

“Thanks,” I say gruffly, reaching for a few of the branches to stack in the pit.

As dusk thickens, I take my usual loop around camp. The air tastes cooler, and birds have gone quiet—a sign that night’s about to settle in. On my way back, I spot Aria standing near a mossy boulder, gazing off into the distance. Her posture is too still—rigid in a way that sets every nerve in my body on alert.

Something’s wrong.

I clear my throat softly. “What’s wrong?” My voice comes out low, coaxing. “Your shoulder again?”

Maybe another rabbit will help.

She doesn’t move right away. Just breathes—shallow, uneven. Then, slowly, she turns her head, and the look in her eyes twists something deep inside me.

Haunted. Wide. Distant.

“They’re here,” she whispers. “I can hear them.”

My blood turns to ice.

“Who?” I ask, though I already know. Iknow.

“Enforcers,” she says, barely breathing. “From my clan.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

My hand goes instinctively to my sword. The forest suddenly feels too close, too quiet. Every tree a potential hiding place, every shadow holding danger.

They’ve found us.

I meet her gaze. “Show me where,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, steady. My heart’s pounding like war drums beneath my ribs, but I can’t let her see that.

She nods faintly, eyes flicking toward the darkened trees. “They’re close,” she murmurs. “Very close.”

The air between us stills. A hush, thick and expectant, falls over the camp.

And though every instinct in me is screaming to act, I wait—wait for her eyes to meet mine again before repeating,“Show me where, Aria.”

Aria

Ican’tbreathe.

I can’t think.

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