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I held back the lingering nausea as Nic’s eyes were closed with the back of Jude’s hand, my friend’s skin the color of snow on the coldest day of winter.
Jake didn’t cry. He was in a state of shock as I wound my arm around his shoulder and led him to where the others circled the grave, their backs ramrod straight, their hands clasped behind them in a demonstration of respect.
Jude and Isiah swaddled Nic in ripped linen before lowering him to the bottom of the shallow grave, dirt and fallen leaves sullying the ivory cloth. The recruits somberly filled the hole as I enfolded Jake in my arms, clutching him tightly.
Only when the last grain fell did Jake shed a lone tear—then he cried no more.
The commander tucked his helmet under his arm, his focus trained on the obsidian metal. With the others watching, Jude stepped up to the freshly packed soil and dropped to a knee. Shutting his eyes, he spoke, his voice too low for me to hear. When the last silent word fell, he opened his eyes and placed his infamous spiked helmet—the mask he’d donned whenever he played the role of death—upon the earth.
Jude stood, rigidly backing away, though his attention never strayed from his offering.
I tried to catch his gaze, but he swiftly turned on a heel and marched toward the horses. Away from us all.
The weight of the moment wasn’t lost on me.
Jake continued to stare into space, glassy-eyed and numb, throughout the remaining hours of the day. Even when we settled around the campfire later, sharing dried meat and fruits packed from the palace, he simply sat beside me, a specter, an empty shell.
Nic’s absence was heavily felt.
There were no clever comments or playful jabs. No boisterous laughter or shrewd smiles. My chest ached whenever I thought about my handsome and sarcastic friend—because that’s what he’d become, a friend who would have stayed at my side until the bitter end.
Nic and Jake and Patrick had all taken me under their wings back at the sanctum, and when the loneliness had threatened to swallow me, they would appear like a wish made real, ruffling my hair and teasing me endlessly until the void in my heart was filled.
I felt like the biggest failure for letting Nic down.
That evening, instead of curling up beside Patrick, I covered Jake’s body with my own, dragging his quivering frame flush against my chest. There were no words I could utter that would ease his pain, no apology that would bring Nic back. But I could dothis.Hold him.
In the past, I’d believed that I’d never been fond of touching because it felt too intimate, allowing people the opportunity to get close enough to weaken me. To break me. But the truth was, I’d been broken a long time ago. It was the fractured pieces of myself I didn’t trust with others. Until now.
Until we’d all stepped into the Mist and were united by something greater than fear.
Jude passed by once, his stare lingering where my body met Jake’s.
As we connected, an undecipherable look flashed across his eyes, a muscle in his jaw tensing. Was he imagining my hand? The gruesome scars that tainted my skin? It was selfish to think of such things then, but I couldn’t help it.
Never had I felt so exposed, and my heart skipped several beats when he broke eye contact, striding away with heavy steps. He slept on the other side of our camp that night, as far away from me as he could manage.
When my eyes fluttered open after a restless sleep, my skin was cold, and my arms were empty.
Rising from my spot beside the dying fire, the rest of the camp only just waking, I made my way to the tree where Nic would remain forever.
It made me sick that we’d buried him here, where he’d succumbed to the Mist and its will, but we hadn’t had a choice.
“Jake.” I placed a gloved hand on his shoulder when I found him before the tree.
He was on his knees, eyes cast to where the gravel and fog hid the body of our fallen recruit. Jake flinched when I took a spot beside him, my knee touching his.
“I don’t know how to carry on without him.” Jake’s raw voice broke. “We’ve been inseparable since we were five years old. Friends. Brothers.”
I kept quiet, allowing him to release the grief that threatened to wreck him.
“My parents were never really a big part of my life. Whenever my dad spent all our money on ale or lost it all on cards, Nic would sneak me over some bread or leftover dinner from his house. That was the first way he kept me alive.” Jake swiped at an escaped tear, sniffling.
“And the second way?” I asked, massaging Jake’s shoulders as he cried. The physical ache in my chest throbbed.
Lowering a reverent hand flat upon the earth, Jake answered, “The second way he kept me alive was showing me that I wasn’t alone. That while I didn’t have much, I did have someone who cared about me. Someone who would mourn me if I died.” Jake scoffed. “I sound like such a damned sap.”
I vehemently shook my head.
