Breathe.
I couldn’t.
I jolted upright, coughing, air scraping uselessly at my throat, refusing to fill my lungs. For a terrifying moment, I was still underwater, still swimming in the dark as if I’d never surfaced at all.
My eyes flew open. Someone was screaming.
It took a heartbeat to realize the sound was coming from me.
Hands gripped my shoulders.
“No. You can’t have me,” I shouted, surging to my feet, my body already preparing to strike, and for a split second I felt it again: the crushing weight on my ribs, the cold forcing its way into my mouth, my limbs heavy as stone.
Then I felt it. The pull of the bond.
Oliver.
He stood in front of me, eyes steady, both hands raised. “Hey. It’s okay,” he said calmly. “You were just dreaming.”
My chest shuddered. I dragged in a breath that finally stayed. It burned all the way down, like my lungs didn’t remember how to be lungs.
“I… I thought I was down there again,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I lowered myself back onto the bedroll. “I thought I never came up.” My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. I curled them into fists and hated myself for it.
“I’m not sleeping either,” he said quietly. “Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you drowning, and all I feel is you dying.”
I looked at him. His face held nothing but unrest, his grey eyes heavy with it.
“I’m here because of you,” I said softly. “Because you saved me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay that.” The words tasted wrong in my mouth, too soft, too honest. Like offering someone my throat.
“You don’t have anything to repay,” he said gently. “Just try to rest. You need rest.”
He sat down beside me on his own bedroll, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him. I flinched before I could stop myself, then forced my shoulders to loosen. I refused to be afraid of kindness.
He tipped my chin up until I was looking at him, and brushed my hair back with his other hand.
“You are more important than any oath,” he said. “I already broke mine for you.” His voice tightened like the truth scraped on the way out. “I would do it again.”
I leaned into his touch, though I still wasn’t sure I deserved the kindness. I hated how badly I needed it.
“I don’t want to be important,” I whispered. “I just want to be free.”
“You will be,” Oliver said, and there was something fierce under the softness. “We’ll make it happen, together.”
He pulled me into his arms.
We sat like that for a while. I focused on his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Something in it grounded me. Something I had never truly felt before.
Safety.
Above us, the stars stared down through the trees. Somewhere beyond the firelight, the waterfall still crashed, endless and uncaring. I could still hear it in my bones, like it was inside me.
This time, when my eyes began to close, I let them.
The next morning, I woke to Oliver’s snoring, something that was becoming increasingly normal and oddly comforting. Just as the comfort tried to settle, reality pressed in around it. My throat felt raw. My skin felt cold.
I got up and rolled my bedroll. Briar was already making breakfast, stirring with steady patience like the world had never tried to swallow us whole, with Castor hovering nearby like he was guarding the fire itself. He wasn’t just guarding the flame; he was watching the trees. Ami tended to Cyrus, whose color looked better than it had since his injury, and more life in his face. Elyon sat by the fire and hummed to themselves, a low tune that made the morning feel older than it should have.
I nudged Oliver with my foot. He blinked awake slowly, then sat up and stretched like he’d forgotten the world could be cruel.
I walked to the fire and sat on a log. My fingers shook when I reached for the warmth. I shoved my hands under my arms so no one would see.
“We need to form a plan for getting into Oliver’s village,” Castor said. His gaze flicked toward Oliver. “What is it called?”
“Gyra,” Oliver said as he came to the fire.
Briar hummed softly at the name, and Elyon swayed as if the sound meant something to them. The hair on my arms lifted anyway. Names had power here. Everything did.
“Okay,” Castor said. “How far are we from Gyra?”
“About a day’s travel,” Oliver answered, settling beside me.
Ami stepped forward. “We can’t leave yet. Cyrus can’t walk right now, he’s too off-balance.”
Castor’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t have time to wait.”
“Then Cyrus and I can stay here,” Ami said, chin lifting. “Because I’m not making him travel in this state.”
A pulse of unease moved through me. “What if more people come to attack?”
“I can fight them,” Ami said, like the answer was simple. “I was distracted last time. But I can protect us.”
I crossed my arms. “How about Oliver and I go alone, and you four stay here?”
“No,” Castor said immediately. “If it comes to a fight, there will be far too many for the two of you to handle.”
I drew in a breath, already preparing to tell him I didn’t need his help, already seeing it: faces turning, shouts rising, Oliver dragged down into the dirt while the village watched,
But Oliver beat me to it.
“He’s right,” Oliver said quietly. We need more than just you.”
“My village has at least a hundred people,” he added. “And every one of them will have been given the order to kill me on sight.”
Castor’s expression didn’t change. “So you will need me.”
“I can stay here,” Briar offered. “To help Ami and Cyrus.”
I glanced between them. Leaving part of the group behind sat wrong in my chest, but there wasn’t another choice that didn’t end in Cyrus collapsing on the road.
“Ugh. Fine.” I rubbed my forehead. “So what’s the plan to get in?”
“There are guards posted outside,” Oliver said. “Only one entrance in and out.” His hands flexed once, tension rippling through him. “I… I think we’ll just have to walk in. I don’t know any other way.”
“Great,” I muttered. “So we’re just going to walk into a murder village.” My stomach turned as if it already knew what Gyra would punch like.
“Well,” Oliver said, swallowing, “they rotate guard rounds every four hours. We can try to sneak in right as the shift switches.”
“That could work,” Castor said. “Prepare to leave.”
I nodded toward the bowl Briar was already handing me. “I’m going to eat first.”
“You will eat too,” Briar said, pressing a bowl into Castor’s hands. “Before you leave.”
Oliver sat down beside me. “Food sounds great.”
We ate in silence. Every crunch felt too loud in the woods.
Then Oliver, Castor, and I gathered our things. I turned towards the hound circling my heels, “You will need to stay hidden. You will draw too much attention.” Within a blink my stormhound disappeared, but I felt a gust of wind hover around my ankles. We began to walk out of camp.
Oliver didn’t look back.