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Ryan and Byron were there in half a beat, tearing him off. They shoved him back, but he planted his feet to the ground and stared at us, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.
A cool wind whipped around us, and there was that darkness again, reaching for us, though much less powerful than on the mountain.
One of the women grabbed him, speaking rapidly under her breath. He shrugged her off but followed her back to the cart.
“We’re staying here,” Byron called out. “Until we get help. We have no choice.”
The group left in a hurry, ignoring the bags of goods that fell off the cart.
Niall touched his throat, horrified. “That wasn’t normal. I felt so cold, so…” He glared after the retreating group. “They are like Margo, somehow. Maybe not exactly, but that cold was…”
“Familiar?” I guessed.
He nodded. “I can’t let them get away with this. They can’t ignore us.”
“You saw what happened,” Ryan said. “If they were interested in helping, they would. Your daughter needs you to go back home safely.”
“What if they want to help?” I said. “What if they’re scared? Those women were terrified.”
“More so when we described Margo,” Byron said thoughtfully. “How do you communicate with people who are too afraid to listen?”
“I don’t think we’re safe here,” Ryan said. “We should leave before more of them come for us.”
“If they cause a scene, they can’t trade here anymore,” Byron said. “They need villages like this. I would bet on it.”
“This is a risk you shouldn’t take,” Ryan continued. I knew he was doing what he thought was best, but it infuriated me. We didn’t have the same priorities.
“Then go,” I said. “I’m staying. No matter what any of you say.”
Byron gazed at me for a moment before sighing. “A few more days. We’ll try again. But we can’t stay here forever.”
Maybe not, but I couldn’t go home empty-handed either.
