Page 59 of Aryn

She pauses, glancing over the group before nodding. “There may be a few chores I could use a hand with, but those discussions can wait until tomorrow.” We stop at the end of the hallway, with four doors in a row along one wall and a single door opposite. “Mezie’s room is at the end, but these three are empty. The washroom is across the hall. There are two showers, two separate waste rooms, and a washing basin hooked up to the well. It’s too cold to hang clothes outside anymore, so we have lines set up inside the washroom. Takes a little longer, but it does the trick.”

She pushes open the door to show us, and Cameron releases a loud groan at the pipes. “Are those showers?”

“They are, mo’sziv,” Ronan answers with a chuckle.

Thulga’s eyes dart between the two of them at the pet name, an amused smile tugging at her lips. “I suppose I know who will bunk together.”

Ronan winces and flashes her a smile that’s almost shy. “Cameron is my shaelin.”

The word presses on an old wound deep inside my chest—one that’s scarred over but still aches when the memories strike just right. Shaelin are the closest concept to spouses on this side. They’re life partners, bound to one another and recognized under the law as a unit. It’s a vow not taken lightly.

Thulga’s expression softens as she glances at the rest of us, eyes questioning. Ronan gestures between Lillith and Taryn with a nod. “They are shaelin as well.”

“Well, that settles that then, I suppose,” Thulga says with a chuckle as she glances between me and Cato. “Looks like the two of you are left bunking.”

“Looks that way,” I answer as stoically as I can manage.

Curiosity wins out as I twist the knob on the last bedroom and push the door open. Moonlight spills across the tidy room. There isn’t much inside—a small table with two chairs beside the window and a large armoire against the same wall. My gaze drifts over the two side tables already equipped with lanterns, and I swallow roughly as I finally let myself look at the single bed.

Cato

I sit on the edge of the chair with a dull throb thumping in my feet. The ache takes on the same steady cadence as my heartbeat as I stare longingly at the bed. An actual bed. As much as I’d love to lie down right now and pass the fuck out, a shower is equally tempting. Plus, I’m filthy and don’t want to get the sheets dirty.

After Thulga left, Aryn and Ronan filled us in on everything that was discussed at dinner. All of us are cautiously growing more optimistic about this mission. Even though the land itself keeps trying to kill us, maybe its inhabitants aren’t.

Most of them, anyway.

Apparently there’s a group that calls themselves Viskari. It loosely translates to ‘The Pale Hands’ or some dramatic bullshit, though Thulga said the closer we get to the cities, the less likely we are to encounter them.

Ronan claimed it made sense that the people left in Elyra are mostly peaceful. The bloodthirsty ones were the military types and supporters of Zadeus, and they’re the ones who got trapped on our side all those years ago.

I suppose that could be true.

But as I absentmindedly run my fingers along the scars on my cheek, I remind myself that people can turn on you in an instant. We’d do well to remember that here.

We’ve been staggering through the showers in shifts, and I’m waiting for Aryn to get back so I can take my turn. I stand and pace to the window again, peering through the darkness at the jagged silhouette of the mountains looming closer. According to Aryn, the path to his home village is the most dangerous stretch of road we’ll face. Once we’re past the mountains, travel should get easier.

The door opens behind me. “Took you long enough,” I gripe, even though I fully intend to drain the well dry myself.

Aryn steps in wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt and pants, his long hair damp and hanging over his shoulders. But instead of looking relaxed after bathing, his arms cross tight over his chest and his lips press into a thin line.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes on the floor as he tries to slip past me toward his pack.

My instincts flare at the sudden distance, and I catch his arm to stop him. “Hey. What’s going on?”

His throat works in a hard swallow I can actually hear, and his gaze stays locked on my chest for a long moment. Finally, it lifts to mine. He’s guarded as hell, and I can’t read whatever storm is brewing behind his eyes.

“Go clean up, Cato.”

I bristle at the dismissal. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Some of his composure cracks, but Aryn isn’t one to lose control. His eyes narrow and he leans into my grip, inching closer. “Go shower. I’ll wait.”

I search his face, trying to crack through that hard exterior, but he gives me nothing. My defenses flare up on instinct, that old urge to fight rising even through the exhaustion, but something in the way he’s looking at me makes me pause. The anger drains away, and instead of pushing, I just nod.

“Okay. But you’re talking to me when I get back out here. If I find your ass trying to sleep, I’m waking you up.”

He doesn’t rise to the taunt, only gives a small nod. “I’ll be up.”