Page 63 of Elas (Mate’s Mark #2)

Reyes’s grin turns radiant as Nyx hesitantly lifts the corner of his lips.

It’s the first hint of a smile I’ve seen from him, and Cameron draws in a sharp breath.

“That sounds perfect,” Reyes says. “I was careful with the roots, so we can put it back where it came from or you can find it a new home.” Nyx reaches out with wide eyes, and Reyes laughs as he hands the flower over.

“Mine?” Nyx asks in English, and Reyes nods.

“Yours.”

“D’ra—thank you,” he says, hugging the flower to his chest.

“Would you like some time alone?” Reyes asks, and after Ronan translates, potent relief crosses Nyx’s face. Reyes gives him another of those tender, comforting smiles. “That’s fine. You know that, right? That it’s okay to need time alone? Sometimes the world is too much for me, too.”

Tears well in Nyx’s eyes, and I’m hit with an immediate wave of guilt. We asked too much of him today. Nyx is as fragile as the flower he clutches in his hand, and even though he offered to help, we took more than he had to give.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, and Reyes gives him another patient smile before standing.

The group walks back towards Ronan and Cameron’s house with our notes and sketches.

I spare one last glance over my shoulder and find Nyx sitting where we left him, leaning against the tree with his eyes closed.

His fingers drag over the blades of grass, and I swear the flower in his hand—the katsurrel— is more vibrant than it was mere moments ago.

The dim dawn light brings with it an ominous sense of foreboding. The sun hasn’t even broken over the horizon yet, but its rays are reaching into the sky.

They steal the night I wish would never end.

Cameron rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn as he rests against Ronan’s side.

The drive to Ljómur will take all day, and we should arrive near sunset.

It’s intentional, because I suspect the base will be at its quietest then.

Fewer people should roam the halls, and most of the day’s work should be packed up and put away for tomorrow.

August speaks with Cameron and Reyes, and the heaviness he’s been carrying is gone, despite the danger we are walking into. “He makes you reckless,” Ronan says from my side, and I turn to give him a small smile.

“He makes me better.”

Ronan scoffs, putting his hands on his hips and glancing over the treetops into the faintest signs of powder blue that bleed into the sky. “If someone had told me months ago we’d be standing here today, I would’ve never believed them.”

My lips twitch at his annoyance. “You mean you wouldn’t have foreseen us on the run and actively rebelling against our own people?

” His mouth pulls into a grim line as he finally meets my eyes again.

“You and I both know this was always something stirring inside us. It just took a… catalyst to set it all in motion.”

“Catalyst,” he snorts, affectionately watching Cameron as our mates say their goodbyes. “More like a godsdamned hurricane.”

“He is a force of nature,” I say with a laugh, and Ronan hikes a brow at me.

“Don’t pretend yours is less dangerous because he hides it behind polite words and smiles.

Cameron may be a hurricane, but August is a solar flare, and those are just as destructive.

” We both chuckle, but there’s little humor to be found.

“Be safe,” Ronan finally says, pulling me in to a heavy-armed hug.

I pat his back, soaking in the affection he so rarely shows. “You know I will be. ”

“I didn’t mean what I said yesterday,” he murmurs. “If something were to happen to you, I would watch over him. He would always have a home here.” Hot tears spring into my eyes that I fight to blink away.

“Yeah,” I finally rasp, hugging him one last time before pulling back. “Yeah, I know.”

“Off with you, then. Daylight will be here soon.” He reverts to his natural mask of grumpiness as he gestures at the loaded SUV.

Barebones necessities sit inside, only what’s needed for the trip.

Food, water, a change of clothes, and enough fuel to make it there and back.

Optimism is a fragile thing as the logical side of my brain tells me this is a mistake, but after talking with Nyx, everyone’s mindsets have shifted.

In our heads, everyone at Ljómur is like him—tiny, terrified, and broken.

Nyx stands at the treeline, barely visible among the greenery of the forest. He disappeared after we went inside yesterday, though I spotted him at dusk planting his flower in the shade outside his cottage. I meet his eyes in the dim lighting. He doesn’t even blink, but I sense his conflict.

It’s the same as mine.

Guilt for sending us in to his hell, and hope that we can help.

I walk over and band my arm around August’s waist, pulling his back against my chest. “It’s time,” I murmur in his ear.

That sense of heaviness increases tenfold, and the oppressive air grows thicker.

We say our goodbyes and leave, an uncharacteristic silence between the two of us as the rocky ground bumps beneath our tires.

Daylight breaks as we emerge from the forest and find the remnants of road that lead to our destination.

August’s hand wraps through mine, and I fight every instinct in my body that says to turn around and hide him.

Tuck him away until he forgets he ever wanted to do this.

But August is light, and I could never dim that glow.

I’ve lived in the darkness, and as it turns out, a life in the dark is no life at all.

So, we drive.