Page 55

Tomoe

I t’d been days since scouts had reported any movement from Covert on our side of the border. To me, it sounded like we were due a visit. Apparently those who had actual knowledge on this kind of thing didn’t agree. We needed quality rest anyway. After hauling ass for fifty-one days, we were on the tail end of this journey.

Strength was a requirement for this endeavor, and one could not gain strength without proper time to recover. Still, sleep evaded some. While the rest of our camp slumbered away, those whom sleep evaded sat around the fires lining down the massive camp. It was a risk, but with most of our troops in the area, Ronan would have to mobilize his army—and even he could not hide an entire army from scouts.

A shadowed figure moved on the other side of the fire. I sat as close as I could, staring into the mesmerizing rise and fall of the flames. My gaze flickered up and landed on eyes so blue they could rival the purest of seas. Hunter’s attention stayed fixed. I became painfully aware that there was no one here but the two of us. If now was the time he wanted to enact his revenge, I wouldn’t stop him.

He cleared his throat, startling me as his voice cut through the still night of this brute filled camp. “I’ve got your back out there.”

I shifted my weight, uncrossing my legs as my eyes narrowed with confusion. I couldn’t tell what his endgame was.

Hunter read the uncertainty across my expression. “You don’t need to worry … uh … you know, about if I’ll defend you in the same capacity I’d defend the others? I can see the way ya look at me. Just wanted to make that clear.”

The muscles tensed along every inch of my body. It was hard to swallow. He should not have to worry about me, how I’m feeling . There were bigger problems in the world than how I was doing emotionally. The last thing I wanted was for Hunter Moore to comfort me when I was the one that took the life of his twin. To be frank, I felt like shit every time I looked at him.

Every time I looked into his eyes, I saw Seth Moore—the man I had loved. Maybe it was the kindness in them that Seth had only let me see. Or perhaps it was the intensity, much like his brother’s, yet softened by something unfamiliar.

Empathy.

That part was different.

I had never seen it in Seth’s eyes, not once—not in the years I spent falling for him, not in the nights we spent tangled together, his gaze void of anything but certainty. I hadn’t noticed then what was missing. But now, with Hunter right in front of me, I did.

Standing before his brother, everything I hadn’t realized was missing, was suddenly there. The good. The love. The compassion that matched the love for the world that existed within Reina’s.

He raised to his feet taking one step, two steps over, then sat down. Directly next to me— touching me. His presence was an electric current in the air. It unnerved me. Made me want to squirm and flee. He didn’t notice. I turned back to the fire, but I could sense his gaze still trained on me.

The closer we got to Covert’s border, the colder the air grew. Hunter’s warmth accompanied with the fire made me appreciative of the frigid bite. Last days of summer or not, there were some parts of Transient Nation that were simply unforgiving.

I forced myself to meet his stare once more. There was something there, it wasn’t pity nor sympathy. Just … something else. Something I could not define.

He was the first to break this time. Sniffing, he straightened up and took a deep breath. When he found the courage, he wandered back to hold my eye. “Tomoe,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I don’t blame you for what happened to Seth.”

There was a careful, hesitant honesty in his words. They caught me off guard because I didn’t deserve them. In the end, I had to make a choice, me or Seth—and I’d only trusted one of us to do what it took to look out for our family.

Seth’s name passing through the lips of a twin who sounded nearly identical to him, made my heart twist into a painful ball. A hand squeezing the life out of my ill-beating heart. I’d expected anger or complete silence from Hunter when he’d arrived at The Compound—once Reina had time to explain everything that had happened from the time the two of them had passed through Monterey’s gates.

Instead, he’d shown me nothing but quiet acceptance in front of the others. I’d not been brave enough to be alone with him. And now, that luck would have it, I was. Hunter’s face fell, a shadow of his own pain passing through.

“I do miss my brother. Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “But I miss ten-year-old Seth who’d swing from ropes with me and jump down the stairs. Sixteen-year-old Seth who raced me out in the fields with nothin’ but the moonlight as our guide. The brother I had right before the ranch fell … From what I hear, that was no longer the brother that existed. You didn’t have a choice.”

My throat tightened. No. This was too much. I did not find myself deserving of his mercy. I wanted there to be accusations. Bitterness. The weight of what I’d done was fucking crushing my soul. It pressed on my chest in a way that made breathing every day a chore.

I had expected them all to hold it against me forever—but they hadn’t. He hadn’t. So why did that hurt?

“I didn’t want to …” I trailed off. “I didn’t want to be the one … the one who ended it.” My voice cracked before I could stop it, and I clenched my fists, grounding myself in the sting of my nails digging into my palms.

“I know,” he said softly.

The understanding in his voice—no judgment. Just the quiet acceptance I didn’t think I deserved.

“He trusted me, Hunter.” My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it. “Seth trusted me, and I?—”

“No. He underestimated you, and you saved them,” Hunter interrupted. “Not just you or Reina. You saved a lot of people that day doing what you did. And you paid the price for it. I won’t lie to you or pretend it doesn’t hurt. Shit, it clearly haunts you. But you did something some of us wouldn’t have the balls to if it had been us. What had to be done.”

“I could’ve found another way,” I whispered. I knew it wasn’t true. I’d run the possible outcomes through my mind a thousand times.

“You could’ve,” Hunter said, eyes on the fire. “Doesn’t really matter—the end of the road is the same, no matter which way you’re coming from.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say to that? I watched the fire stretch upward in bursts, sparks vanishing into the night. More soldiers had headed to bed. The camp had finally settled into something resembling peace.

“Fascinating,” I muttered after a while.

Hunter glanced at me, his tone carrying that effortless curiosity I could never quite match. “What is?”

“How decent you and Reina turned out,” I said, regretting the words the second they left my mouth. Small talk wasn’t my thing, and I knew better than to tread here. Still, I forced myself to keep going. “I’d think this was a simple case of the apple not falling far from the tree if you two weren’t right in front of me.”

“Dropped on the head, or kicked in it,” Hunters laughed, radiating through the hollow pathways that crossed every which way. A city of tents. “Turns out you lose a brother either way.”

I blinked, then laughed—a real laugh. It startled me more than it should have. “Did you just?—”

“Make a dead brother joke?” His smirk wasn’t sharp, it was … sad. “Yeah. You get to do that when you have two of them. And since you were there …” He bumped my shoulder lightly, and I let it happen. “I guess that means you’re allowed too. Plus, I heard you appreciate a well-placed morbid joke. Been awhile since I came across someone who could find a little humor in all this dark.”

“You must spend very little time with the Bloodhound .”

“As little as possible. Yes, that’s correct. Something is … not right inside that mind,” he said, grinning.

I shook my head, but my mouth betrayed me again, another laugh slipping out. The fire popped, the kind of sound that filled the space between words, and I let it.

“You’re a strange one, Hunter,” I said bluntly.

He turned to face me, lips quivering as he did his best to bite back a laugh—he failed. Miserably, as he laughed in my face. “Strange? What an odd statement to come from such a source.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. “Fair point.”

Hunter tilted his head, studying me in a way that made the space between us uncomfortably small. “You know, I didn’t think I’d ever laugh like that again.”

Something in his voice made my chest tighten. I didn’t like it. Didn’t know what to do with it. So I deflected.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” I said, standing and brushing off my hands. “I’m not exactly known for my sparkling sense of humor. Besides, I didn’t even say anything funny.”

Hunter leaned back, eyes steady, the smirk lingering a beat too long. “You don’t need to say anything to bring a smile to someone’s face, Tomoe. You just have to exist.”

The fire popped again, making me jump as I turned to leave, the hour of night creeping in around the edges of the camp. I headed for the tent I shared with Reina, my steps swallowed by the camp’s quiet. Everyone was asleep, or trying to be, but the world around me hummed with anticipation, as if the night itself were holding its breath.

I only needed to figure out why.

The ground beneath me was hard and uneven, the dirt darkened by the flickering light of lanterns hanging from posts or resting on crates. Everything about the camp felt burned by death and suffering. The hum of soldiers settling into their makeshift homes filled the air—low murmurs, the occasional clink of metal or the rustle of worn fabric.

I was halfway to the tent when the faint light from Tomás’s flickered in the distance. The man never slept. He was always up to something—either fixing or creating. He was, unfortunately to me, a refreshing entity to spend time around. The weight of the world didn’t appear to crush him the way it did with others.

His tent flap was partially open, the light inside dim, reflecting against his honey skin. He muttered to himself as I approached. Somehow, Tomás always settled across from me and Reina. Dark brows furrowed in concentration. I watched him lose himself in a room full of quiet thoughts. The only sound besides grumbles under his breath being the scratch of the pen over the blueprint sprawled across the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t startle at my words. I appreciated the lack of jumpiness in his demeanor when he was in my presence. Most people flinched when I walked into the room. Like I would look at them and point, maybe spout off the day of their death. Instead, he offered the same lazy grin that made his presence impossible to ignore, and went back to work.

“Ouch,” I teased, turning away. “Guess I’m the one interrupting something today.”

“No. Never that. My apologies, a bit lost in thought.” His words stopped me in my tracks.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to fall victim to whatever this smile on my face was trying to do. “You never sleep.”

The words slipped out matter of fact, but I kept my eyes on the plans in front of him. Tomás’s intelligence knew no bounds. It was a shame it was only taken into consideration until recent months. Of course, his interests had changed when Alexiares had extended the offer to use his knowledge for evil. Or good. It was debatable given most of his work had been done under Alexiares’s discretion.

His sketches were intricate, depicting weapons, magic-fused metal, and gear meant for more than the average soldier.

“Who needs sleep when there’s work to do?” Tomás muttered, barely glancing up. A half-smile tugged at his lips. “I think I’ve figured out how to enhance our weapons with our power. Amaia thinks we’ll need it when things get tough.”

I stepped closer, leaning in. Couldn’t help it. The words pulled me in, but it wasn’t that simple. It was the way his eyes flicked up, then back to the papers, like he was waiting for me to say something. Eager to win my approval.

“Of course she does,” I said, trying to keep it light. It came out sharper than I intended. “I thought you turned these in days ago?”

“I did,” Tomás replied, twirling the pen between his fingers. “But there’s always room for improvement.”

I raised an eyebrow, my gaze flicking to the designs. “So, what’s this do?”

“Make us stronger.” Tomás’s voice dropped low, and this time, he didn’t smile. “To keep it simple: If we fuse our magic with the weapons, they’ll respond better to the assigned user’s touch. More power. We can use it to hit harder. Even if Covert gets their hands on it from a fallen soldier, they won’t be able to use it—not in the same capacity.”

I dropped to the ground, leaning in to study the finer details of his etchings. Focused. Too focused to notice the shift in his posture, the slight movement toward me.

Fingertips brushed my temple, light as a whisper. A slow, careful touch as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear—like it was second nature. Like it had always been this easy for him.

But it wasn’t. Not for me.

The moment stretched. There was a second, a beat, when everything went quiet. My pulse skipped. Then, his hand dropped away, but the space between us felt too small. And I could no longer face him.

“You okay?” Tomás asked quietly. He was watching me, and I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.

I cleared my throat, steadying myself. “Goodnight, Tomás,” I said, my words rushed, taking a step back, my body already turning toward my tent.

“You know where to find me, Tomoe,” he called after me, and I knew that he was smiling.

I turned back to him, no longer able to fight the smile tugging at my lips. The same banter we always fell into—it was easier to pretend it was just that. Easier to pretend it wasn’t simmering into something more.

The vision hit me harder than a train. There’d been no warning. No sense of control—because I was not the conductor. I was only along for the ride.

Ronan. His smirk was sharp, knowing—like he had already won. Like this was just a formality.

Our routes would lead to nothing but the slow, agonizing collapse of our army. There would be skirmishes, small and relentless, each one a calculated strike meant to drain us further. Not enough to break us all at once. Just enough to keep us bleeding. And Ronan Moore, the architect of it all, would watch as we crumbled, piece by piece.

We were exhausted. Near broken. No magic left. No strength to fight back.

No hope.

Because Amaia would be dead.

Ronan was ready. And he wanted us to feel it—to understand, in the marrow of our bones, how thoroughly we’d already lost.