Page 24 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

“Thank you again,” I say softly, “for saving us from those orcs.”

Something like amusement flickers in his eyes. “You thank me often.”

“Well, you save us often.” My lips curve, a hesitant smile.

He returns a faint smile of his own, just enough to stir warmth in my chest. “I’d argue you’re just as integral to our survival. You managed to keep Jenna alive, found silverleaf, and you fought back when it counted.”

My cheeks flush, uncertain how to respond. Praise is alien to me—slaves in House Vaerathis rarely received anything but curses.

Before I can think of what to say, Silas and Ryn approach with a bundle of knotted reeds and branches. They’re mid-argument about the best way to fashion a crude fish trap. I step forward to help, grateful for the distraction from the tension that hums between Daeva and me.

As we work, I notice Silas’s occasional glances in my direction, and the uneasy set of his jaw whenever Daeva comes near. It’s clear he’s seen the subtle interplay between us, and he doesn’t like it. I can’t blame him. He’s known me for years, looked after me when no one else would. Now some demon—once-human or not—has swooped into my life, intangible and powerful, capturing my attention in ways I can’t fully explain.

I keep my head down, weaving the flexible reeds. The repetitive motion soothes me, helps me ignore the thrumming awareness that crackles whenever Daeva stands too close.

Eventually, we manage a rough cylinder shape. If we anchor it downstream with rocks and lure fish inside, we might catch a meal in a few hours. It’s a glimmer of hope.

Ryn, Cole, and I carry the contraption to a slower bend in the river, while Silas and Daeva remain behind to tend the camp. We wedge the trap between rocks, tying it off with a strip of cloth so the current won’t sweep it away. The water tugs at my ankles, swirling around me.

When we return to the bank, Daeva and Silas have already broken down some of the camp, tidying the area so it looks less like a permanent settlement. Daeva hoists Jenna carefully, mindful of her wound, and Silas shoulders the crossbow.

I drift over to Jenna, brushing stray hair from her forehead. She manages a small smile. “I’m slowing us down,” she murmurs apologetically.

“You’re alive,” I say firmly. “That’s all that matters.”

Daeva shifts her weight, and for a moment, his gaze meets mine. There’s a question there—something about how long we can keep carrying her. I nod, silently promising we’ll manage as long as it takes.

We spend the next hours in an uneasy calm, waiting for the trap to yield anything. Cole and Ryn rummage around, searching for edible plants, while Silas scouts the perimeter. I find myself drawn toward Daeva again and again, as if some invisible tether insists on pulling me close. The fleeting looks, the brush of our arms when we cross paths—it leaves me breathless and uncertain.

When we finally check the trap, we discover two small, wriggling fish. Hardly a feast, but enough protein to bolster our strength. We cook them over a tiny fire using sharpened sticks, dividing the portions with care so everyone gets a bite.

Jenna sits propped against a log, nibbling at the savory meat. “This is better than mushrooms,” she jokes weakly.

A thin layer of clouds dims the afternoon light. With no immediate threats barreling down on us, it’s almost easy to pretend we’re not fugitives. But fear lurks beneath that fragile peace; I can’t forget the wild light in the orcs’ eyes, or the cold fury of the elves who enslaved us.

Silas corners me when I finish my meager meal, pulling me aside near the pines. “Calla,” he begins, voice laced with concern. “You’re… you’re drawn to him, aren’t you?”

I stiffen. “Silas?—”

He sighs, frustration knitting his brows. “I’m not judging. I just worry. He’s a demon, or part demon, or something. We hardly know him, and you?—”

My cheeks flame. “He’s not like the others. You’ve seen how he helps us. And I…”

“You trust him,” Silas finishes for me, sounding pained.

I don’t know if trust is the right word. There’s a storm of conflicting feelings: fascination, gratitude, caution, attraction. It’s all too tangled to be summarized neatly. “We need him,” I say instead. “Without him, we might not survive another day out here.”

Silas gives me a resigned nod. “Alright. But keep your head, please.”

I force a small laugh, though it sounds hollow. “I’m trying.”

He returns to the camp, leaving me alone among the towering pines. My gaze drifts across the clearing until it settles on Daeva, who stands at the river’s edge again, as if drawn to thewater. Maybe he’s replaying the memory of last night, the same way I am.

I close my eyes, swallowing the knot of anxiety in my throat. For years, my only goal was survival. Now that I have this precarious freedom, I’m confronting strange desires and alliances I never anticipated. A demon man—once human, still so painfully human in his regrets and empathy—draws me in ways I don’t fully understand.

Eventually, the wind stirs, carrying the promise of another incoming storm. We’ll need to move again soon, to avoid being pinned down by weather or roving patrols. But for now, we have a little time to breathe.

I return to the lean-to, checking on Jenna and helping reapply her bandages. Overhead, the forest canopy sways, casting shifting shadows across our makeshift camp. Ryn and Cole pack away what little supplies we have. Silas keeps glancing at Daeva, his expression torn, but he’s said his piece for now.

---