Page 89 of Elas

“Just… remembering things,” I say, and he arches a brow as he chews, trying to keep the smile off his face.

“Oh?” he asks, feigning innocence. “What sort of things?”

“Hmm, not much.” A salacious grin spreads over my face as I lean forward. “Just picturing how pink your bouncy little ass was last night after I wore it out.”

“Elas!” A bright blush blooms on his cheeks as he shakes his head. “Menace,” he mutters, which only makes me grin wider. I enjoy the rosy tint of his skin for a moment before I respond to his question.

“The rain won’t slow me down. Nothing outside would tell me if it was Ronan rather than some other passing raider, anyway. Commander Khors seems to think he stopped here for a while. Signs of a recent stay will be easy. Proving who it was will be the hard part.”

“You said there is a working solar panel?”

I nod, gesturing at the dark lights overhead. “Obviously, they didn’t sleep here, but that’ll be where we start. We can narrow it down to the buildings that are getting power and go from there.”

“What would you look for as a tracker?” he asks, and I grin at his curiosity. His mind is constantly analyzing, wanting to understand how everything works.

“See how dirty this place is?” He nods, glancing away at the layer of filth that covers every surface except the table we’re sitting at. “Dust is a good indicator of how long it’s been since someone was here. This place, for example? Before we came in, the floors were filthy, but now there’s a path where we walked. Anyone that followed us could find signs of us staying here.”

“I would’ve never thought of that,” he says, tilting his head as he examines the footprints on the floor.

“Ronan’s a neat freak—always has been. There’s no way he’d be sleeping on an unmade bed and eating on a dusty table. Most raiders and scavengers aren’t as concerned with cleanliness, so that’s something I’ll consider. Other than that, we’ll look for signs of life. Fresh ashes from a fire, or if there’s a stove, if it’s been used recently. The water lines work here, so if we turn the pipes on and they’re all full of air and rusty except one…”

“That’s really smart,” August says, giving me a bright smile that I return easily.

Another crack forms in my lifelong armor as I realize I’m smiling because I’m happy, not because I’m hiding.

The difference is profound.

Others protect themselves with thorns and barbed wire wrappings, but I use my smile to disarm. It has always felt safer to hide behind the kernels of happiness than to let the darkness have them. It’s constantly there, watching over my shoulder, but August chases it away.

He’s light and joy, and so pure I swear he glows sometimes. In a world that steals every bit of happiness it can, he’s held on to his. The first time he complimented me, I didn’t know how to respond—didn’t understand what he stood to gain from his words. It’s a stark contrast from the way I’ve lived for the past century, where adding a new tally to your kill count is the only thing that earns a reward.

Pushing the morbid thought aside, I focus on the present.

The panic I expected from leaving with August never came. Half of me believed I’d wake up this morningworried I’d made the wrong choice, but there’s only contentment. An insistence that comes from the deepest part of me that says this is where I’m meant to be.

“El?” August’s soft voice brings me out of my head, reaching over and taking my hand. “Where did you go?”

I smile, pulling his hand up and kissing his knuckles. “Nowhere, doc. Nowhere but here with you.” He smiles so pretty before he stands and dusts the crumbs from his clothes, brushing at that softness around his middle that I want to sink my teeth into.

He watches me as I stand. “Well, you’re the boss, so I’ll let you lead the way, sir.”

“Sir, huh?” A low, vibrating hum forms in my throat, and I step closer, watching his eyes dilate as they sweep my body and take in my prowling stance. “Careful what nicknames you give me, August,” I say, and his cheeks flush as I grip his chin. “Some of them might end up sticking.”

“Hells, Elas,” he groans, thudding his forehead against my chest. “My ballsachefrom all the attention you’ve given them, but my dick is not getting the memo.”

“As tempting as it is to drain those adorable tiny balls again…” His face whips up and he shoots me aseriousglare. I grin widely and press a kiss to his lips. “… we have work to do.”

Rain patters against metal rooftops as we step outside, pooling on the arid ground that’s too dense to absorb it all. It’s been so dry the soil has baked under the blaring sun, and now the downpour confuses this wretched world even further. We spend hours weaving a path through the puddles and checking for homes with working power,searching them as we go. Over a dozen buildings later, we’re rewarded with an overhead light.

It’s dusty inside, though, with no signs of recent activity. August checks the cabinets and closets and finds collections of random supplies. Soap, empty glass jars, and a few moth-ridden pieces of clothing. He stashes the soaps in his backpack with a shrug, and we move on.

This continues for the next couple of hours, and as impatient as I am to uncover any signs of Ronan, I find I’m content to listen as August explains who lived where and what each building was used for. He adds a few things to his bag, though most of the stuff we find is junk that’s been left behind for a reason. The rain still falls as it gets closer to sunset, so we take the last hour of daylight to clean a bed and bathroom inside a house with active power. A fan spins lazily overhead as we curl up together beneath the thin sheet, letting the heavy droplets sing us to sleep with their pattering lullabies.

Clouds float in the sky the next morning, but the rain has stopped. In its place is the miserable sort of humidity that makes you sweat the moment you step outside. A cold shower shocks our system awake, and August is bouncy with energy after a full night’s sleep. We pick up where we left off yesterday, searching the grid where the power works.

A small single story home sits near the back corner of the camp, and as soon as I walk inside, I’m sure this is where Ronan stayed. It’s spotless inside the living room—the sofa is clean and the table is free from grime. There’s even a pale ring on the side table, like a sweating glass recently sat there too long. The kitchen is just aspristine, and when I drop to my knees and peek under the stove, remnants of flour dust the floor.

I grin, swiping my finger through the white powder before I sit back on my feet and show August. “Knew he’d be fucking baking.”

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