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She straightened, surprise flickering in her eyes, and for a moment, he thought she might say no.
“I only meant to be nice,” he said quickly, his pulse stuttering. “You don’t need me to walk with you. I know that. Figured maybe you might want…company?”
He clenched his jaw. Gods, stop talking.
“You don’t have to,” she said brightly, waving a dismissive hand. Then she took a step and promptly tipped sideways.
He caught her without thinking.
Wren grabbed his shoulders and he steadied her, his hands at her back. She was soft, and warm, and smelled of toasted apples, probably from the cider. This close, the flecks of amber in her dark brown eyes were impossible to ignore. For a moment, it was all he could see. Neither of them moved.
She blinked, her lips parting slightly. It took everything in him to look away before he decided to do something stupid. He helped her stand and pulled his hands away. Then he took a step back and cleared his throat.
“Apparently I do,” he said quietly.
Wren pulled her pack closer. She pressed her lips pressed together and nodded toward the River Gate. Then she started toward it, hooves clacking against the stones. He stood watching her leave, unsure if he should follow. When he didn’t, she turned to look back, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“Well?” Her lips curled into a smirk, waiting.
He didn’t move. A fool standing in the dark, not even hiding the way he was staring now. This was it. He could back away now. He knew he should. Every step made it harder to leave, harder to tell her the truth. Impossible to pretend she was simply another name written in ledger ink.
Still, he followed her out of the gate.
The night was clear, the moon dark, as they passed beneath the gate. Wren rustled in her pack and pulled out a small wire lantern, its bent frame painted with white-petaled flowers. It was the kind of thing a child would carry.
“I’ve had it for years.” She shrugged sheepishly. “Where’s yours? Or are you too shadow-charmed to carry a lantern?”
“It’s not a good insult if I don’t understand the word.”
“It means you treat darkness like a personality trait,” she said, laughing. “Brooding people usually qualify.” He grumbled, but the word stuck. Meant in jest, but truer than he liked.
She frowned at the lantern. “You don’t happen to have any sparkstones, do you?”
He shook his head, then hesitated. He had another way. It was this or walk her home in darkness. “I can light it,” he said quietly.
She passed it over. He took it, then clenched his jaw. Not when she was looking. It’d be hard enough to weave without the added pressure. He gently turned her by the shoulders to face the river before she could see what he was doing.
“Seriously?” she asked, glancing back.
“It’s easier,” he muttered. “Don’t look.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” She tapped her hoof against the dirt but didn’t turn around. “You can’t light a lantern while someone’s watching?”
He didn’t answer, simply steadied the lantern in one hand and focused on the wick. Why did I offer? Because she asked. Because you wanted her to see something good in you—something other than armor and silence. He exhaled and focused on the lantern. Better to do it quick.
Taking a deep breath, he snapped his fingers. Heat surged, too fast, and for an instant, the air smelled of scorched oil and iron. His stomach twisted, and he forced it down. It wasn’t real, only an invasive memory he couldn’t avoid.
The flame was larger than he meant, wild for a heartbeat, then softened to a steady glow. His pulse raced anyway. Magic was a tool. But it was a heavy one—the type he wasn’t used to carrying.
“There,” he said, flattening the panic in his voice. “All set.”
She turned back and took the lantern, studying him.
“You’re a little strange.”
He managed a shrug. “I’m still a stranger. Sort of.”
“Ma says strangers are simply people you don’t know yet.” She held the lantern ahead as they started down the path. “Seems right.” The light swung between them as they walked, the flame steady now.
