Page 15 of Storm of Stars
I let out a breath, pressing a hand to my chest. “You scared me.”
He turned toward me with a crooked grin, setting the knife down beside a jar of something on the counter. The dim lightsoftened his sharp features, and made his eyes look darker. His hair was slightly mussed, and he smelled faintly of rain and earth, like fresh air after a storm.
“Sorry,” he said, rounding the kitchen island to pull me into a hug without hesitation. His arms circled me, grounding me in that moment. I let myself lean into it, wrapping my arms around his waist, breathing him in like something clean and steady.
“How’s Ezra?” he asked softly, stepping back, though his hand lingered on my arm a moment longer than necessary.
“He’s sleeping,” I said, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “Though I think he’s more pissed at himself than anything. Kept saying he should’ve made Zaffir teach him how to work the ‘damn machine’ before we got in there.” I attempted a passable impression of Ezra’s grumbled frustration.
Thorne laughed, grabbing sandwich fixings from the counter. “Sounds about right.”
He gestured to the knife. “Can I interest you in a midnight sandwich? It’s not bobcat stew, but I promise it’s edible.”
I smiled, feeling the tension in my chest ease. “An exclusive meal atRestaurante de la Grey? How could I possibly say no?”
His grin tugged at something in my chest, and I watched his hands as he moved. Steady, capable, thoughtful. It struck me how often he’d taken point on cooking for us in the Wilds. Even when everything was unpredictable and terrifying, Thorne always found a way to feed us.
“Do you like to cook?” I asked, resting my chin in my hand as I watched him layer ingredients on the bread.
He shrugged with a small, wistful smile. “If you think putting some mayonnaise on a piece of bread is cooking, I have a lot to teach you.” he teased, pointing the knife in my direction.
I laughed.
“But yeah. Ma tried to teach us both. Briar wasn’t into it. Too restless, always climbing trees or eavesdropping on theneighbors. But I kind of liked it. There’s a rhythm to it, you know? A small thing you can control.”
I hesitated, then asked, “Did you know… about your mom being part of the Runaways? While she was alive, I mean.”
His hands stilled, a shadow passing through his expression. “I knew more than Briar did,” he admitted. “But Ma never said it outright. Not until she gave me the card.”
“I thought Briar was really good at reading people, how did she miss that?”
“I think she was too close to it. You know? Like you only see what you want to see when it comes to those you love?”
I nodded.
He drew in a breath, slicing through the bread carefully. “Briar knew that she spoke up a lot. Not always about Praxis directly, but about the Collectives, about the injustice of the Run. Enough to get her noticed. Not enough for them to kill her… until it was.” His voice cracked faintly, and I felt the ache of it in my own chest.
“When I figured out what she’d been a part of, what she created, it wasn’t a surprise. She hated what the Reclamation Run did to people. To families. To us.”
I swallowed, tracing a crack in the counter with my finger. “Why did Briar want to be elected?” I asked quietly.
He met my eyes then, a sad, knowing kind of smile ghosting across his face. “That’s a story she should tell you herself.” He slid a plate toward me and came around to sit beside me.
I picked up the sandwich, its warmth and weight oddly comforting. “So… how is it?” he asked, raising a brow.
I took a bite, pretending to chew thoughtfully. “You know, I think I actually miss the bobcat,” I teased.
He snorted and bumped his shoulder against mine, a real laugh breaking through this time. “Careful, love. Insult the chef again and I’ll have to punish you.”
I smiled, the ache in my chest easing as heat took its place.
I took another bite, and for a few minutes we ate in a comfortable, easy silence. But my mind wouldn’t settle. It drifted, spiraling back to the same thought it had all day when the quiet stretched too long.
“What’s on your mind?” Thorne asked, bumping his shoulder against mine, pulling me back from the edge I hadn’t realized I was teetering on.
I sighed. “Fenly,” I admitted, the name tasting heavy on my tongue. Between worrying over Ezra and trying to hold the pieces of our team together, Fenly Nots hadn’t left my thoughts for a second.
A flicker of something, recognition, regret, grief, crossed Thorne’s face. His expression tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair as he stood, collecting his empty plate and walking it to the sink. I watched the way his shoulders tensed, the way his whole frame looked wound tight, like a storm ready to snap.
