Page 113 of Ronan

A single functioning panel out of the dozen here provides very little electricity. It’s enough for a couple of hot showers and powering the stove for one meal, but anything beyond that is unreliable. Unless I’m baking, we limit cooking to fires and conserve the oil we have for the lanterns. Modern amenities are a fair trade for safety and security, though—one that I’d make a million times over to be here with him.

The well was easier to fix, and was up and running within two days. It’s a mechanical, hand-primed style of pump—an instance where the lack of technology comes in handy, and was thought out long ago by those who installed it. Indoor plumbing is a constant source of pleasure for Cameron, who’s lived so much of his life without it. It’s also been a tremendous help in getting this place clean.

Six years of filth is no joke.

Our house didn’t need major repairs, thankfully, since the roof held up with only a few tiny leaks. Vines climbed the exterior walls, but they only dislodged a few sections of siding and never forced their way through the windows.

Materials are taken from the building in the worst shape, one that’s far beyond repair. Even in its current condition, we’re able to steal plenty to patch the other homes together, and I’ve spent much of the daylight removing the suitable pieces of siding, intact shingles, and unbroken windows.

I had our house weathertight and waterproof in a matter of days.

Nyx’s cottage is another story.

We’ve repaired his walls and adjusted his doors to shut properly, ensuring all the locks engage. Despite hisinitial reluctance, I have replaced the broken windows, though I’ve been careful not to damage the vines that drape over the glass. Funny enough, his vines are the only ones with blooms—tiny white and yellow flowers scattered among the green leaves.

I’d love to ask him about his magic, but although weeks have passed, he stays to himself. Cameron offered his help at cleaning inside, but Nyx simply gave a sad shake of his head.

My attempts to make conversation have fallen short, and he’s barely spoken a word since we arrived. The boundary between helpfulness and interference is razor-thin, and we’re doing our best to navigate that line with care. He has joined us for a few meals, and I see him outside most days.

He started clearing space for a garden, seemingly at his happiest when he’s covered in dirt under the sun. Even with running indoor water, he prefers to use the creek for most of his needs and spends much of his time in the woods. He’ll often appear at the edge of the trees, hands filthy and smile serene, and Cameron likes to quietly whisper to me that he looks like the forest elves in one of the books he’s been reading.

Boomerang stays with Nyx often. I can tell it makes Cameron a little sad, though he’s glad Nyx has the company.

In the center of town, a brick building with a slightly rusted door is being used as storage. What felt like mountains of supplies in the van now look like a meager collection on the extensive shelving. A wave of apprehension washes over me as I step inside, though I try to squash it.

We have more than most people out here, and the ability to get more. Despite Cameron’s claims that he’s never been a good hunter, he has an intricate system of snares set up in the woods. We frequently catch rabbits and have seen deer roaming close by. All we need is a bow powerful enough to hunt, and we can start drying meat for the colder months.

The afternoon sun shines brightly as Cameron follows me in, dust motes drifting in the rays as his footsteps echo on the wooden floor.

“Oh, you naughty thing,” he teases, and I scrunch my face in confusion. “You and that organization kink… were you in here touching yourself while you make labels?”

“It would be hard to touch myself while writing labels,” I point out. “Also, I don’t have labels.”

“You’d figure it out, big guy,” he says with a pat to my stomach.

“Did you give Nyx the seeds?” I draw him in, wrapping my arms around his middle and pressing a kiss to his hair. The garden appears ready; the weeds are cleared, and the dirt is tilled. Rich, dark soil forms tiny rows that are just waiting for budding plants. With his race’s affinity for nature and his love of being outdoors, we thought it would be the perfect distraction to busy his mind, and something that doesn’t require talking. We gave him an assortment of everything so he can experiment and see what takes.

Something tells me it’s all going to flourish.

Cameron is quiet as he nods, cheek smooshed against my chest. “He stared at them for a long time, and you might have to explain what plants they’ll grow, but he…” Cameron releases a breathy puff of a laugh. “He spoke to me.”

“What did he say?”

“D’raste,” he says, and I bite back my grin at his attempt at the inflection.

“It means ‘thank you.’”

Cameron smiles wider, his entire face lighting up with it. “Then he called me ‘frand Camroon,’ and I had to leave before I cried and lost my man card.” Just as I’m about to tease him, a noise catches both of our attention. Sharing a quick glance, we dart to the door.

“That sounds like a vehicle,” I mutter, and his lips pull tight as he nods. My face remains calm even as panic churns in my gut, climbing my throat and turning into bile at the thought of our sanctuary being discovered when we’ve barely just arrived.

My hand tightens around my sword, because I haven’t broken the habit of wearing it. “Go hide, Cameron. It’s safer for you to remain out of sight.”

“And what about you?” he hisses as the vehicle gets closer, the snapping of branches and cracking of gravel leaving no question that someone is headed our way.

“I will be better protected if you are hidden, and I don’t have to worry about you. It is not the time to be stubborn! Find somewhere to hide, and if something happens to me, you run.”

“Ronan—”

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