Page 69 of Aryn

He’s quiet for a stretch, fidgeting with his weapon as he takes a few deep inhales. “Does it make me an awful person to say I don’t know if it was worth it for me?”

“No,” I say softly. “It doesn’t.”

“The thought of going through that again… of caring that much and just…” He trails off and swallows. “I don’t know if I’m that brave.”

“You are, Cato. And when you’re not, I’ve got your back.”

“What do we do?” he whispers.

“You don’t have to do anything,” I answer softly, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. “I’m here either way.”

He catches my hand when I try to pull away, then weaves our fingers together with a deep, shuddering breath. He doesn’t look at me, just stares into the distance before he squeezes my hand once and lets go.

“Alright,” he whispers.

“Alright,” I agree, and side by side, we leave the forest and rejoin the others.

Cato

Thulga and Grimhild cook lunch after the chores are done. There's enough food on the table to feed a group three times our size, and enough activity to cover the way my mind won't stop racing. No one else notices my silence, even if Aryn tosses me a few concerned glances.

Everyone showers once more while we have the convenience, and my jacket has to be repaired and laundered—again—but a few hours hanging in front of the fire has it dry and toasty warm.

Before we go, Thulga spends some time looking through the things we have to trade. She swaps one of Lillith’s sweatshirts for a warm wool sweater and gives Aryn far too much salted meat and grains for a few bags of dried fruits from back home. I’m not sure what he told her about what they were or where they were grown, but she hugs them to her chest like something precious.

As we’re loading our bags and preparing to leave, she shoves a handful of coins into Aryn’s hand. In true goodie boy fashion, he tries to tell her no, but she insists. Eventually he caves, because despite those picture perfect manners, he knows how useful it will be to have the local currency.

I understand his aversion to taking handouts, even if I have no such hesitations. If he hadn't taken them, I sure as shit would've.

Ronan and Aryn translate as we say goodbye, and Thulga tries to convince us all to stay another night. While it’s tempting to take them up on their offer and spend another night in a real bed, it does us no favors to delay. Aryn politely turns her down, but promises we’ll come back to visit if we’re ever in the area again.

It’s nearing midday when we leave the farmhouse. The sun’s actually out for once, and despite the weirdness in my head, I join in the shared good mood. It feels like we’re finally catching a break, though I don’t dare risk saying that out loud.

Aryn and I walk in the back, listening to the others chatter as we scan the terrain. For a while, we’re quiet, and I let the last few days of conversation play through my mind. It’s not that I’m a dishonest person necessarily, but openly talking about the shit in my past is new. I don’t share easily. Bash knows my story, as do Ego and Sakane, but I’ve never told anyone aside from those three.

It feels like admitting a weakness, as ridiculous as I know that is. But after a lifetime of not trusting anyone, handing them the most vulnerable parts of my story feels like ammunition that can only be used against me.

I glance over at Aryn’s profile, remembering the pain in his face when he told me about his family. The jealousy I feel over his past is stupid—not only because it was so long ago, but because I told him I’m not in this. He needs someone steady and stable. Someone who isn’t impulsive, combative, and always looking for the next adventure to fill the quiet spaces.

Someone who isn’t me.

I’m self-aware enough to know my personality isn’t for everyone, and I’m certainly not what he needs.

I can’t be.

Aryn said it himself—he likes calm nights of peace and quiet, and I don’t know how to live a life that isn’t surrounded by noise.

It’s always been that way.

I’ve always needed life to be loud enough to drown out my past.

Aryn pulls me out of my head, and we chat as we walk. It’s nothing deep—just easy conversation about the path ahead, talk about the food we were served and what it’s called, and how things have changed since he’s been here. It’s light and simple, and doesn’t call for more. Every so often our arms brush, and neither of us pulls away when it happens.

I should pull away. He’s already admitted he’s getting attached, and it isn’t fair to him when he’s made his stance abundantly clear. Instead, I catch myself wanting to lean into it.

As the afternoon goes on, the forest changes. Bright patches of color break up all the white and gray we’ve gotten used to. Sapphire-blue ferns sprout along the path, so bright they nearly glow. Crimson and gold vines weave between trees and wind along trunks, and little violet and teal flowers peek up from the snow everywhere. It’s… beautiful. Almost too beautiful for this frozen place.

“These are new,” I say, nodding toward a cluster of the ferns.