The smell of yeast and smoke hits me as I approach the Food Tent. I’m about to step inside when the sharp crack of canvas splits through the air.
Whipping my head toward the sound, I catch Magda slipping out of the Combat Tent. I can already see why Talen likes her so much; she's checked in on me every day this week.
Still, there’s something about the way she moves—her shoulders stiff, her gaze flicking around the camp as she smooths down her jacket—that makes me shift back, ducking inside the Food Tent.
I stay there, fingers curled around the canvas, pulling it back just enough to keep watching as she crosses the central square and disappears. A moment later, Merrin steps out of the same tent, seeming just as tense.
Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe it has to do with the briefing today, but it feels off... Especially for them to be meeting so early in the morning?—
The sudden clang of metal behind me makes my heart practically skip a beat. Spinning around, I find bowls scattered across the ground, clattering and spinning in wild arcs. Ahria stands in the middle of the mess, nosing through it all, already chewing on a chunk of meat that’s slipped free.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter through clenched teeth, peering back out into the camp. But the square is empty now, and Merrin is gone. My shoulders drop as I turn back to Ahria in time towatch her swallow a chicken leg whole. “How are you always so hungry? You’re tiny.”
Everything aches as I move, but I gather the bowls anyway and put them away. Then I pull out the dough we made yesterday and start kneading, forcing my arms through each throb and protest.
Neeve should be here soon, though, and I'd welcome the help with the baking—but more than that, I want the distraction. Because without her, the stillness settles in, and my mind goes straight to where I don’t want it to.
Talen’s letters.
Every day this week, I’ve opened the Letter-threader and another one floats free from the flame. I read every single one… and every single day, I don’t reply.
It’s not that I don’t want to. God, I do. Desperately. But if I cross that line—if I let myself accept him, accept what he’s done—then I have to face what I’ve done too.
But maybe it’s time I did?—
“Sorry I’m late.”
The voice makes me jump, but the rhythm behind my ribs quickly settles when I look up and see Neeve.
“I had another dream last night,” she huffs, already moving past me to grab a chunk of dough, throwing it onto the bench beside me and getting straight to work. “And then Darren and I had a massive argument about it.Again.”
As she speaks, I glance over, noticing her eyes are red and puffy.
“I mean, I know why he’s worried.” Sniffing, she drags her arm across her face, careful not to catch her gold nose ring. Her sleeve smears the tears away before she presses back into the dough. “But still, he won't even talk about it. Says he wants to wait for my mum and brother to arrive and have the weddingfirst. And then we can discuss bonding. But the next Blood Moon won't be until next year, and I can't wait that long.”
“I get it.” I reply, my hands slowing in the bread mix as I give her a sympathetic smile. “Even after everything you’ve told me about the Ceremony, I still want to, need to, enter. But Darren does have good reason to worry. If your dragon doesn't find you, if they aren't compatible or don’t like what they see, if you drink the Vega juice and?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She waves me off but in a kind and gentle way. “Then they burn me alive. Sacrifice my body as part of their strange ritual. Blah, blah, blah.” Letting out a long sigh, she starts placing the dough in tins.
Watching her work, the tension in her movements, I can’t help the knot forming in my chest.
If someone told me I couldn’t at least try to bond with Ahria, I can’t imagine the pain it would cause. And I’ve grown really fond of Neeve over the past week. Even though she forces me to light the oven fires every morning, she’s still a more calming presence than Reya or Lucien.
Maybe that’s why this hits harder—because she reminds me of myself. Before everything. Or at least the person I wish I could still be. Kind, but brave. Strong, but vulnerable.
“When will they arrive?” I ask, changing the subject as she passes me a tin. “Your family?”
She gives a small, hopeless shrug, not lifting her attention from the table.
“The plan was to bring them here a few months ago. After my dad was taken—Reassigned—we wanted to get them out as soon as possible, but the borders are so controlled now. It’s getting harder and harder to move people. And it doesn’t help that the camp is almost full.”
My fingers falter on the next ball of dough as I think of her dad, and mine too. We’ve spoken about them a lot over the past week, wondering what might have happened to them.
“Darren said Merrin is making plans to move the camp somewhere more permanent and safe.” She goes on as we fill the last tin and start carrying them over to the oven. “He said then we can find a way to bring them over, and once they are here we can get married—” Her voice trails off as she sniffs back more tears. “But with all these arguments, I’m starting to wonder if that will ever happen.”
“Hey, don't say that.” I give her a small nudge. “From what I’ve seen, Darren is desperate to marry you.”
Her mouth curves a little, but not quite a smile. “I know he’s just on edge, nervous about the briefing later today. He’s still hoping Merrin will announce him as the lead for the new recruits. He’s really excited and I know it will help give him some more structure. A sense of purpose. Since he left the Citadel, he's found it hard to find his place here. Most of his time is spent going on recon missions to the Northern Peaks, collecting intel. But often, they fly alone to avoid detection, so he doesn't really feel part of a team?—.”
