I find her again near the ridge. She’s sitting cross-legged on the ledge, staring up at the sky like she’s waiting for it to crack open.
I sit beside her. No words for a bit. Just the hush of night. Wind in the trees. The rustle of critters who know better than to come too close.
After a while, she speaks.
“I still dream about them,” she says softly. “The scouts. My team.”
I glance at her, but she’s not looking at me. Just the stars.
“Lenny. Bex. Garth. Even Tod, the idiot who always forgot to load his sidearm.” Her voice cracks. “Sometimes I wake up hearing them scream. Other times, I dream we made it out. That we’re sitting around the fire cracking jokes, passing a bottle. Then I open my eyes and they’re ash again.”
I say nothing for a minute. What do you say to that? The truth, maybe.
“I still dream about cities,” I murmur. “On fire. Screaming. Me… over them. Tearing spires from the ground. Eating priests. Cracking towers like crab shells.”
She turns to me. Eyes wide. But not afraid.
“You?”
I nod. “Old urges. Old instincts. A part of me always wanted to see the world burn just to hear it beg.”
She swallows. “And now?”
I reach for her hand. Curl my fingers around hers. Her pulse is a quiet drum under her skin.
“Now I don’t want to burn anything,” I say. “Not unless it’s with you.”
She smiles, small and sad and fierce. “You’re such a softie.”
“Don’t tell Veeto. He’d try to hug me again.”
We sit there till the stars start to shimmer like spilled glitter. Then she stands, pulls me up, and leads me back down to our half-built home.
We settle in.
She hunts. I build.
We bicker about firewood, snore volumes, and how long the stew’s supposed to boil.
She teaches me to use a rifle. I teach her to gut a moose the troll way. (It’s messier. She likes it.)
We argue.
We make up.
We make love.
We fight again over who gets the dry half of the bedroll when it rains.
She wins.
Every time.
But I let her.
Nights are best.
Nights are when the bridge hums with quiet. When Bruce snores from the pond. When Charen writes filthy poems in her sleep-webs and Veeto’s passed out face-first in his beer jug.
