Page 25 of Embers of Midnight

Ronan gives him a look I feel in my kneecaps. It reads don’t spook her. It also reads I will throw you in the river for fun. Ash just smirks and somehow manages unrepentant and fond at once.

“I—” I set the bowl in my lap before I drop it. “Thank you. For the clothes. And the… not letting me drown.”

“That was mostly me.” Ash lifts a hand. “With assist from gravity and poor life choices.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Caelum drawls, ladling himself a bowl. “He’s incapable of taking a compliment like a normal person.”

“Compliments are traps,” Ash replies. “Ask anyone.”

“I’m asking you to eat.” Darian’s tone is plain, firm. Ash obeys like it’s muscle memory.

I can’t help it. “Are you a cop?”

Darian blinks. “No.”

“Military?”

A single shake of the head.

“Priest?”

Ash chokes into his stew. Caelum snorts. Ronan’s mouth does something that might be a smile in a room with better lighting.

“No,” Darian allows, the corner of his mouth tugging. “Ronan’s a dragon shifter. Ash is a shadow-demon—his familiars are Vex, Morrow, and Silks. Caelum is Fae, dreamwork and mindcraft. I’m a fallen angel. Four different problems, one team.”

Of course they are. Tall, blond, and apocalypse-ready hands me tea. Sure, I’m calm now.

We eat. Or rather, I eat like I haven’t in days and they pretend not to be fascinated by the spectacle. The fire crackles. The wind lifts a little, combing through the trees. Someone—Ronan—adds a log with one hand and sets it just so, like the fire will behave better if it feels seen.

“So.” Ash leans back when our bowls are empty, balancing his on one knee. “How about we do the human thing and trade names again like we didn’t meet while you were busy boiling a river?”

I arch a brow. “You think that was my plan?”

He flashes teeth. “I think whatever you do is probably a plan, even when it’s an accident.”

“Flattery,” Caelum notes mildly, “is not a substitute for manners.”

“I’m Ash.” Hand to chest, mock bow. “This is Darian. That’s Caelum. And the large, broody one glaring at me like a disappointed mountain is Ronan.”

“I’m not glaring,” Ronan objects.

“You’re always glaring,” Ash chirps. “It’s your resting face.”

Ronan’s gaze slides to me and softens again. “Sera.” Not a question. The way he says it is careful, like he’s setting something down where it won’t break.

“Yeah.” I tuck my hands under the edge of the coat and squeeze. I swallow. “I… remember everything.”

Silence lands without weight. Not the kind that demands—one that offers.

“We’d like to know what happened,” Darian ventures after a beat. “Only what you’re willing to share. No pressure.”

The words hit a bruise I didn’t know I had. No pressure. Sure. I stare at the fire and watch a stick collapse into its own heat. My chest tightens, then loosens. My tongue feels too big for my mouth. I am not going to cry. I am not going to shatter. I am going to talk because silence feels like letting those men take something else, and I’m out of inventory.

“I was walking home. Usual route. Keys between my fingers because I’m not original.” My throat burns on the last word. I keep going. “One of them followed. I knew he did. I made the turn anyway because I’m—” stupid, stubborn, tired, all of the above, “—optimistic.”

Ash’s jaw ticks. Darian’s hands still. Caelum’s spoon quits stirring air. Ronan stares into the fire like he’s considering whether to fight it.

“They waited in a side street. The talk was… you know the talk.” I don’t repeat their words. My mouth refuses. “He had a knife. He cut my shirt. I broke his nose. He stabbed me.” My hand finds my stomach without permission. The shirt is whole. My skin is whole. The memory isn’t.