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He shot her a filthy glare before seeking them out again. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. The truth was, he didn’t think of Adrienne like that at all, no matter what had happened between them all that time ago. She was his friend, nothing more, besides a pain in his arse. She and Dratos made a fine match in that respect.

And yet Anya’s comment burrowed into his mind. Adrienne wouldn’t say anything to Thea, would she? Not when things were so fragile…

‘Thea and I… We spoke last night,’ Anya said. ‘Properly.’

Wilder didn’t hide his surprise. Anya was notoriously guarded. He hadn’t expected her to open up to Thea anytime soon, nor tell him about it, for that matter. ‘And?’

‘And it was hard.’ As was Anya’s voice, but he knew her well enough by now to understand that a lot of hurt and trauma lay beneath that granite exterior. ‘Hard to know the extent of what was taken from us. Hard to tell her. Hard for her to hear it, no doubt. It was all hard.’

‘Are you alright?’ he asked.

‘I’ve had years to come to terms with the truth. Thea’s had a few hours…’

Wilder’s chest caved. For all her rage and confusion, there would be a lot of grief for Thea now. He knew she’d be hurting, and no matter their issues, he couldn’t stomach the thought of that.

‘That’s not an answer,’ he said to Anya, not wanting her pain to be swept under the rug either.

‘It’s answer enough,’ she replied coolly.

Wilder let it lie, let the silence settle for a time. There was a fine line between knowing when to push an Embervale sister, and when to stay quiet. So he ate his porridge, which was now cold. While he did, he continued to scan the camp for any sign of Thea and Adrienne, a kernel of discomfort unfurling in his gut as he let his mind drift to what they might be discussing.

Eventually, Anya made a noise of disgust at the back of her throat. ‘Fuck’s sake, Hawthorne. Go on, then. I’ll plan the fucking rebellion by myself. You’re no good to me like this anyway. Piss off.’

The supposed Daughter of Darkness practically chased him away from the table, and that was all the encouragement he needed to go striding across the campsite, scanning the rows of tents for the two women.

As he made his way towards his own tent, Adrienne emerged, pausing at the threshold to give his arm a squeeze. He frowned after her for a moment. What did that mean? Was it in support? Sympathy?

Wilder entered the tent to find Thea wearing pants and buttoning a fresh shirt, one that actually fit her. For a moment, all he could do was watch as she tucked her fate stone beneath the folds of fabric and belted Malik’s dagger at her waist.

‘It’s rude to stare,’ she commented, not looking up from her task.

‘I liked my shirt on you better,’ he said, voice low.

‘Funny way of showing it.’

Wilder continued to watch her, noting the hesitation in her movements, her reluctance to speak more than five words to him. She was tense, on edge.

‘Anya told me that you spoke…’ he ventured.

‘We did.’

‘Did it not go well?’

‘It went as well as a conversation between lost sisters raised as enemies can go. I… I think I like her.’

‘Then what is it? Did Adrienne say something to you?’ The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Thea still didn’t meet his gaze. ‘She said several things.’

‘Well, I’m talking about the one that made you look like that.’

It wasn’t anger in Thea’s eyes. It was sorrow on top of sorrow. He knew its look well, along with the regret that swept in in its wake.

Wilder went to her, her pain becoming his, feeling it deep in his chest. ‘Whatever she said —’

‘She said that long ago, she told her best friend about you…’

Wilder’s stomach dropped. Had he misread the friendly rapport between himself and the Naarvian general? They had ended things amicably, hadn’t they? Or had he hurt her without realising? His thoughts began to spiral. For Adrienne to speak to Drue about him —