Page 23

KAIRON

T he air is thick as blood.

Steam coils from the ground like breath from a dying beast. Every inhale is damp. Heavy. Full of rot and pollen. The trees thin out into a shallow swampland, vines dripping with moisture, the ground turning to soft, sucking mud.

I don’t slow.

Mud clings to my boots, water stains my legs, but I move with practiced force, each step calculated and deliberate. My body was built for this—endurance, pain, resistance. I don’t bend. Don’t break.

Behind me, Ava struggles.

I hear her. Slipping. Slogging. Cursing under her breath as she fights the muck that pulls at her like hands from a grave. I don’t look back. Not yet.

“Could you move any slower?”

Her voice cuts through the humid air, laced with irritation. It stirs something in me—annoyance mingled with a hint of concern I refuse to acknowledge.

“Just stay focused,” I say without breaking stride.

I can feel her glare even without turning around.

“I’m focused! This damn swamp just doesn’t want to cooperate!” She splashes through a deeper patch, the water soaking into her already ragged cargo pants.

The urge to glance back gnaws at me, but I suppress it. Weakness breeds contempt; that’s how it’s always been in my world.

Still, there’s an urgency gnawing at my gut—the need to keep moving forward. We can’t afford delays here; we’re already deep in enemy territory.

Ava’s foot slips again, and this time I hear a sharp intake of breath as she nearly goes down completely before catching herself on a nearby vine.

“Damn it!” she snaps.

My jaw tightens.

I glance back again. Not because I care, but because I can’t help it.

She’s a vision of determination, fighting against the swamp like it’s a personal enemy.

Sweat glistens on her collarbones, catching the dappled sunlight that breaks through the canopy.

The way her spine moves beneath the torn fabric of her uniform drives me insane.

It infuriates me how beautiful she is—not perfect, but resilient. She doesn’t yield, even when the weight of exhaustion pulls at her limbs.

Then she stumbles again, and this time, her foot sinks deep into the sludge. A furious string of curses erupts from her lips, echoing across the murky water like gunfire.

Before I think about it—before my mind catches up with my instincts—I’m moving.

I wade into the muck, knee-deep in filth, and grab her under the arms. I lift her like she weighs nothing more than a child—a spark of surprise flickers in her eyes as I haul her free from the mire.

Her reaction is instant. Thrashing. Elbows flying.

“Put me down!”

“You’re slowing us down.” My voice is flat, final, cold as the steel of my blade.

I adjust her against my chest—tighter. Her legs kick once, then stop. She clutches my shoulders, not for balance but out of sheer, furious resistance.

But I keep walking.

Each step feels heavy. The weight of her isn’t the problem. I’ve carried wounded soldiers, scavenged tech, full water drums before.

She’s light.

Too light.

Probably malnourished from the nights without food, dehydrated without water. Human bodies are so fragile, and hers seems even more so. The way she fits against me stirs something primal—a mix of annoyance and an unsettling protectiveness I can’t shake off.

Her breath hitches, warm against my neck. I can smell the salt of her sweat mingling with the dampness of the jungle air. A soft scent beneath it—something floral and fresh that makes no sense in this oppressive landscape. Every inhale feels like a brand on my skin.

“Let me go!” she snaps again, fury threading through her words like a vine coiling around a tree trunk.

I keep my eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge the tremor in her voice or the fire in her gaze as it cuts into me like a serrated blade.

“You’re not equipped to handle this terrain alone,” I say sharply, pushing aside the heat pooling in my gut at her defiance.

“Like you’re some kind of expert?” She scoffs, and though I don’t look at her face, I can feel the challenge radiating off her.

The truth claws at me—I am an expert at survival, but only because survival is all I’ve ever known.

Still holding her tight against me, I navigate through the muck and thick foliage without breaking stride. Each step sends ripples through my focus; every shift of her body distracts me more than it should.

The jungle feels alive around us—roots creeping underfoot like fingers reaching for something lost in its depths. Ava’s body presses closer with every movement of mine; it’s both a comfort and a curse that makes me want to growl in frustration.

“Do you ever think before you speak?” I murmur as we break through a cluster of trees into an open glade—a rare pocket where sunlight filters through thick branches above us.

She goes quiet for a moment as if considering whether to respond or just sulk against me.

Then she says nothing at all—but I can feel her heart beating faster against my chest.

I hate this.

Hate how right it feels to have her against me. The way her warmth seeps into my skin, how her body fits against mine as if it was designed that way. I hate that she’s quiet now, not from exhaustion but from a reluctant acceptance of the reality between us.

The moment we reach a dry patch of moss-covered stone, I drop her—not gently, but not violently either. Just enough to make my point clear: we’re done here.

She lands with a grunt, hands scraping against the soft moss. I can almost hear the humiliation radiating off her in waves as she gathers herself, pushing strands of hair away from her face.

“Eat.” My tone is clipped, cold as the jungle night creeping in. I dig through my pack and toss her some of my own food. It lands in her lap with a soft thud. I don’t bother looking back.

I turn away and grab my gear, setting up camp with efficient movements. Each action is deliberate—every knot tied, every branch arranged like clockwork. My shoulders are tight; my jaw clenched so hard it aches.

The first spark catches in the tinder I’ve prepared, flames licking upwards and crackling softly against the evening hush of the jungle.

I hear her shifting behind me—quiet now, no more shouting or fighting spirit left to fuel her words. But I can feel her eyes on me, like embers burning holes into my back.

What does she see? A brute? A monster? Someone who has no business playing savior?

I stifle the thoughts, refusing to entertain them for long. If I let myself think too deeply about it all, I might find answers that terrify me.

The fire flickers brighter as night descends. Shadows dance across our makeshift camp; everything feels suffocatingly close now—her presence an unwelcome weight at my side.

“What’s wrong with you?” Her voice breaks through the silence, quiet yet pointed.

I glance over my shoulder but don’t meet her gaze directly. “Nothing.”

“Right.” Skepticism drips from her tone like rain off leaves after a storm.

I ignore the jab and focus on adjusting branches around the fire instead—a feeble distraction from what lingers between us like a charge in the air.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” She pushes again, a hint of defiance creeping back into her voice.

“Not hungry,” I lie flatly, but even to myself it sounds hollow. Hunger gnaws at me—but not for food alone; for something else entirely that hangs between us like fog on an early morning.