Page 140 of Scavenger's Oath

I blink at it. “You brought me out here to look at dirt?”

He laughs genuinely and pulls a little canvas bag from the pocket of his combat pants, opening it to show me the paper packets inside.

Seeds. Tomatoes, basil, peas, bell peppers.

Where did he find these?

My breath catches. “Are you serious?”

A lump forms in my throat as I meet his gaze. His eyesare full of tenderness. Of adoration.

“Dead serious. You told me that you liked gardening, right? And I’ve seen the way you look at the dried herbs in the kitchen,” he smirks, “Figured maybe you missed fresh ones.”

Reaching for one of the packets, my fingers tremble slightly as I turn it in my hand.

Sunflowers. My favourite.

My chest aches with something heartbreaking but bright. I look up at Zane, unsure what to say.

“It’s not much,” Zane says quietly. “But it’s a start.”

Dropping to my knees, my eyes burning as I brush my fingers through the soil like it’s sacred. As if I can coax life out of it with just a touch.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, the soil cool against my skin.

For the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel like a death sentence—it feelshopeful.

Zane crouches next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. “Good. Because I want to help you bring it to life.”

I focus on him, taking him in completely. There’s dirt under his nails already, a small cut on his knuckle.

He did this… for me.

He smiles softly, reaching for my thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel like a ‘thing’ that needs training or ‘purifying’. I don’t feel like a problem or a perversion.

I feel like something real. Something valued. Alive.

Human.

Soil works its way beneath my nails, sunlight soaking into my skin. And for a second, it feels like the world never ended.

Zane sits beside me in the dirt, in comfortable silence, sleeves rolled up and dark eyes watching everything. There’s sweat on his brow and dirt smudged along his arm, but he looksmore at peace than I’ve ever seen him.

“You ever done this before?” I ask, breaking the silence as I press another seed into the earth.

He shrugs, his voice rough. “Always figured I’d die before anything I planted had time to grow.”

My throat tightens, because that used to be me too—living as though the future held nothing but a grave.

“What changed?” I ask quietly, brushing hair behind my ear.

He glances at me, then away, a smile tugging at his lips. “I guess I started hoping for more.”

Deciding not to push, I just brush some soil over the seed he planted, my fingers grazing his. He doesn’t pull away.

We fall into rhythm, side by side. I show him how to measure out the space between the rows with his knuckles. He listens, genuinely invested, and I can’t contain the heady feeling it gives me.

Zane’s not afraid of killing. He’s afraid of investing, of planting something and hoping to see it grow. As if he’s accepted that he’ll never live to see old age.