Catherine awkwardly shifted onto her feet. She dusted her hands on her pants, staring up at the dark sky.
“I should make some rounds.”
Masika chuckled bitterly to herself. “Right.”
There was a second of hesitation as Catherine stood there, eyes awkwardly shifting from the looming darkness of the forest back to Masika, and then she was unsheathing her spear and striding off, disappearing into the night.
Masika held her breath, willing the hot tears burning behind her eyes to stay put.
Ever since she’d arrived back at the Resistance, a secret part of Masika, however small, had hoped there would be a way for the two of them to find their way back to one another. A way to take the broken pieces that remained and put them back together intosomethingworth saving.
But that secret part of her was destroyed in that moment with one conversation.
One word.
Nothing.
19
WREN
Wren had found the lock of hair on her bedside table. No note. No indication of who might have left it there. It was just…there.
She brushed the dark strand of hair between her fingers, brows furrowed. Who the hell would have left a lock of hair in her tent? And for what purpose? It made no sense. Was it a message? A threat?
Wren hadn’t noticed anything strange when Quinn and Arthur had guided her back to her tent after the battle simulation and the training activities that followed. Wren hadn’t participated in the training—given her lack of magic—but she’d been forced to watch. Forced to be in the presence of magic without having a drop in her veins.
Once Wren had entered the tent and Quinn and Arthur had left her for the evening, she’d wandered over to her bed, only to notice the lock of hair in her peripheral vision. And now, here she was, racking her brain for some sort of explanation.
It wasn’t her hair, that she was certain of. And it didn’t seem to belong to Quinn or Arthur, given that Quinn’s hair was a bright shade of pink and Arthur’s was shaved close to his scalp.
But it must belong to someone in the encampment.
A Demien.
The realization struck Wren a second later. She gasped, nearly dropping the lock of hair on the floor. A memory flitted into her mind. Something Quinn had said to her earlier that morning.
“It’s enchanted to keep you in. If you want to cross through, you have to have physical contact with a Demien.”
If this lock of hair belonged to a Demien…would it count? Would it be enough to get her through the tent’s barrier? If so, the better question wasn’t why someone had left this here…but who had left it?
Wren pocketed the questions for later, refocusing her attention on the task at hand. She gripped the lock of hair tightly and approached the entrance to the tent, breath held.
Please work.
She shut her eyes and stepped forward.
A delicate breeze. A gentle pressure.
Wren’s eyes fluttered open, blinking as her vision readjusted. It took a few seconds for the realization to sink in.
She was standing outside the tent. She had passed through the barrier. It had worked.
It actually fucking worked.
Wren clamped a hand over her mouth to silence the wave of laughter bubbling up in her throat. Getting past the barrier was only the first step, and there was no point in rejoicing when she was still in danger.
Somebody, for whatever reason, had handed her this opportunity.
