Page 27 of Embers of Midnight
“Name them,” Darian invites.
“No cult stuff. No oaths I don’t understand. No lying ‘to protect me’—tell me if I’m in danger. If I say stop, we stop. I can leave when I want.”
“Done,” Ronan—immediate.
Ash lifts a hand. “Can I add ‘no running headfirst into hunter traps without telling us’ to your side of the list?”
I level a look at him. “I don’t run into traps.”
“You jumped into a river.”
“I miscalculated a jump.” I shrug. “Different.”
Caelum coughs into his fist to hide a smile. “We’ll make a plan together. No traps. No surprises. We’ll show you where we’re going before we step.”
Darian rises, collecting bowls. “Eat more first. Your body needs it.”
“I am a bottomless pit,” I announce, but hand over the bowl before I lick it.
“Top me up,” Ash tells Caelum, thrusting his own bowl across. “I need fuel for the part where Sera pretends she doesn’t like us.”
“I don’t like you,” I return, automatically.
He beams. “See? Perfect.”
Ronan moves then, just a little, adjusting the coat on my shoulders like it offended him by slipping. Fingers brush the collarbone notch at my throat—zing that travels embarrassingly far. He pulls back at once, eyes on my face for any hint of discomfort.
“Warm enough?”
“Yeah.” It comes out softer than intended. “Thank you.”
“You can keep it.”
“I’m not stealing your coat.”
“It looks better on you.”
Ash makes a noise like a drumroll. Darian taps his shoulder without looking.
The fire settles to a steady hiss. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, the coat forming a tent around my hands. The camp is small and temporary and feels more like a home than my apartment ever did. That thought scares me enough that I dig my nails into my palms until the sting pulls me back to the ground.
I’m not trusting them. I’m… temporarily borrowing their competence.
“Okay,” I breathe, some stubborn thing finally loosening under my ribs. “We’ll go. But not now. I need…” I close my eyes and picture standing, walking, a portal—whatever that means. My bones protest on principle. “A minute.”
“As many minutes as you like,” Caelum assures.
“No packing,” I tack on quickly, before the spell breaks. “If any of you start rolling bedrolls in my line of sight, I revoke my yes out of pure spite.”
Ash raises both hands. “No packing. Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout,” Darian observes.
“I was scouted. Different.”
Ronan huffs. It might be a laugh if you tilt your head. “We stay.” Not a question. Command turned gentle. He sets his axe within reach, not for show. For me, in case my brain needs proof.
We all fall quiet. Not the uncomfortable kind. The kind where the fire does the talking and the cold keeps its distance because it knows when it’s beaten. I listen to my breathing and watch it match the rise and fall of the flames. My hands stop trying to fist on their own. The tremor in my thighs eases. I let my head dip until my chin brushes the collar of the coat and breathe in smoke and pine and the ghost of Ronan’s skin.
