“There who is?”
“The spitfire under all that soldier bullshit.”
I whip around to face him. “You think this is an act?”
He shrugs, one huge shoulder rolling beneath leather straps and shaggy fur. “I think you talk like someone who got real good at pushing people away before they could hurt you.”
My stomach twists, and not because I’m hungry. “I talk like someone who survived.”
His molten gaze holds mine. For a breath, maybe two. The air between us crackles—hot and sharp. Then I turn away and start walking again, faster this time. Stupid troll. Stupid feelings. Stupid flutter in my chest like a damn bird caught in a net.
The mist thickens as we push higher into the hills. The trail narrows, overgrown and slick. I slip once, catch myself on a twisted branch, and hiss through my teeth. Kragna’s there in a second, close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin.
“You alright?” he asks, voice soft in a way I don’t expect.
“Fine.” I yank my arm away before he can touch me. “Don’t go getting all nursemaid on me.”
He steps back with hands raised. “Didn’t mean to offend, soldier girl.”
“It’s River.”
“Right.” He says it like a prayer, slow and deliberate. “River.”
I wish he wouldn’t say my name like that. Like it tastes good in his mouth.
We walk in silence again, though this time it’s loaded. Not awkward, exactly. More like… charged. Like the air before lightning hits. I feel his eyes on me sometimes. Watching. Not leering, not like most men I’ve known. Just… observing. Measuring. Like he’s trying to figure me out piece by piece.
Finally, I break. “What?”
He doesn’t pretend not to know what I mean. “You fascinate me.”
My boots crunch dead pine needles. “I’m not here to be fascinating.”
“Too late.”
I rub a hand over my face, suddenly exhausted. “You’re relentless.”
“I’m a troll. We don’t give up. Especially on things that matter.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Not yet,” he says. “But I’m tryin’ to.”
We stop for a break in a clearing wrapped in low fog and shadow. I sit on a fallen log, stretch my legs, and sip from the canteen. The water’s stale, metallic. Still better than nothing. Kragna crouches nearby, rummaging through his pack and producing some dried meat. He tosses me a strip without a word. I take it, and chew. It’s salty and gamy and tastes faintly of smoke and something vaguely sweet—maybe crabapple.
He watches me eat, and I know he’s thinking something, so I give him a look.
“What?” I ask through a mouthful.
“Just wonderin’ how long it’ll take before you stop lookin’ like you’re gonna bolt.”
“Depends. How long until you give me a reason to?”
His smile’s slow and rueful. “Fair.”
We eat in silence. The fog curls around us, thick as wool, pressing in like it wants to be part of the conversation. I glance at him. His eyes are on the trees, distant. Thoughtful.
“You ever eat a person?” I ask, because subtlety’s never been my strong suit.
