I kiss him back. Soft. Slow. Let my hand slide up his arm, over his shoulder, to rest against the back of his neck. Feel the shiver that runs through him at the touch.
“Imara.” My name again. A breath against my lips.
“I know.” I pull back just enough to see his face. “I know.”
We stay like that—foreheads touching, breath mingling, the farmstead quiet around us. It’s not resolution. It’s not a plan. It’s just two people admitting they’re in over their heads and choosing to keep going anyway.
When I finally return to treating his wounds, the tension is different. Less like a weapon and more like a promise.
I don’t know what comes next. Neither does he.
But we’re going to find out.
TWENTY-TWO
IMARA
Night falls.
I’ve done what I can for Kharvek’s wounds—cleaned them, applied what healing magic my limited reserves allow, bound the worst of the tears with strips of cloth from my own robes. The damage is still severe. The channels that carry his power have been compromised, some of them possibly beyond repair.
“Can you still fight?” I ask as I tie off the last bandage.
“I can always fight.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His jaw works. “I can fight. But?—”
“But?”
“If I channel too much, too fast, the damaged channels could rupture completely.” He flexes his bandaged arm, testing the range of motion. “If that happens, the power will burn through instead of around the scarification. It could?—”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.
“It could kill you.”
“It could do worse than kill me.” He meets my gaze. Holds it. “If I lose control of that much power, I won’t just die. I’ll destroy everything around me. Everyone.”
The implication lands in my gut. Cold. Heavy.
“The survivors. Dena.”
“Yes.”
I think through the mathematics of risk. The terrible calculus I’ve been performing since I first decided to fight the clan. If the hunters come—when the hunters come—Kharvek is our only real weapon. Without him fighting at full capacity, we’re all dead anyway.
But if he fights at full capacity, he might kill us all himself.
“How long until the channels heal?”
“Days. Maybe a week. Longer if I have to keep using them.”
We don’t have days. The Matron’s hunters are out there somewhere, tracking us through the barren wastes. Every hour we spend in one place is an hour they use to close the distance.
“We need to move.” I stand. Start gathering our supplies. “Find somewhere more defensible. Somewhere we can hold if they find us before you’re healed.”
“There’s nowhere more defensible within a day’s march.” Kharvek rises too, testing his arm. “This farmstead is the best option.”
