Page 4

The stone was warm from his small hands, and I curled my fingers around it. “Thank you, cub.”

Dain clambered into my lap carefully, trying not to touch my back, and rested his head against my shoulder. “When I get big, I’ll protect you. You won’t have to go to her anymore.”

The breath hitched in my throat. I held him tighter, my hand still wrapped around the lucky stone.

“Maybe by then I won’t need her.”

He looked up at me with that pure, unfiltered devotion only children have. “You’re the strongest person in the world.”

No,I wanted to tell him. I was just the one who never stopped running.

But I didn’t say it. I just leaned my cheek against his and closed my eyes, letting the moment wrap around us like the last warmth before the storm.

Dain stirred against my chest, then looked up, rubbing his eyes. “Lexi, I’m hungry.”

Of course he was. It was well past sundown, and I hadn’t made anything yet. I pressed a kiss to his curls and whispered,“Alright, let’s see what we have.”

Every step to the shelf hurt. My limbs felt like soaked wood, heavy and splintered. Still, I moved. For him, I always would. I found the last heel of bread, a bit of smoked fish, and a wrinkled apple. Not much, but enough for a child.

He sat at the table, swinging his legs, and smiled wide when I set the food down. “A feast!”

I ruffled his hair and sat across from him, hands wrapped around an empty cup. I didn’t reach for a bite.

He paused mid-chew, frowning. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I’m not hungry,” I said with a soft smile.

He stared at me, lips pressed together, but didn’t push. I was grateful for that. The truth was, there wasn’t enough for both of us, and he needed it more than I did.

Later, after he yawned three times in a row and blinked slow, sleepy blinks, I carried him to the bed. He curled into the blanket like a pup into fur.

“Lexi,” he mumbled. “Can you tell me a story?”

“Which one?”

“The one with the white fox.”

I smiled and pulled the blanket up under his chin.

“Once, in the heart of a silver forest, there lived a white fox. Her fur was so bright, she glowed under moonlight. She was clever and silent, and she never let herself be seen by humans. Until one winter, a hunter came to the forest. He didn’t hunt for food or sport, but because he was lonely. Every day he walked the woods, talking to the trees and humming songs he didn’t know he remembered. The fox watched him from the shadows. She listened to his songs. And little by little, she began to follow him.”

Dain’s breathing slowed, soft and deep.

“She fell in love with the hunter,” I whispered, brushing hair from his forehead, “but she knew if she showed him her trueself, he might fear her, or worse, try to claim her. So she stayed hidden, content just to be near. One day, the hunter stopped walking. He sat on a fallen log and whispered into the woods, ‘I know you’re there. I don’t want to catch you. I just want to talk.’”

My voice caught, but I swallowed and went on.

“The fox stepped out of the shadows. And instead of running, the hunter smiled. He sat and talked with her, and though she never spoke back, she stayed until dawn. Every night after that, they met under the moon. No lies. No traps. Just silence and company.”

Dain was asleep, a hand curled beneath his cheek.

I watched him for a long moment, then leaned in and whispered, “Even wild things deserve love.”

CHAPTER 3

Andros

The scent was unbearable.