Page 23 of Scavenger's Oath

He’s a good distance from the bars. I should have enough time to back away if he comes at me.

Keeping my eyes locked on him, I inch closer to the bars. He stays still, watching as I reach for the bottle and pull it through. Then as I drink desperately.

Gasping for breath, I force myself to stop drinking before I take in too much. Zane still doesn't move, but something in his face softens, as if he's finally stopped holding his breath.

Eyeing him cautiously, I reach out again and pull thebowl through the bars. The warmth of the bowl brings comfort all on its own. But the smell makes my stomach knot. It’s rich, salty and flavourful.

Real food.

Not a ration or a biscuit—or an unopened can someone tossed at me like scraps.

Lifting the bowl to my lips, I tip it back and let the stew pour into my mouth. The broth slides down my throat and a soft moan escapes my lips before I can stop it.

It's the first real food I've had in days. There are pieces of tender meat, soft carrot, and what might be slivers of wild onion.

It tastes like a memory. Like contentment. Like a Sunday afternoon as someone hums while stirring a pot on the stove.

I hate that it makes me feel anything. But that warmth fills somewhere deeper than my stomach.

That should be terrifying. But something in me wants to believe it isn’t a trap. That this could be… safe.

Watching him from the top of the bowl, I see the corner of his lip pull up as I finish off the entire thing. Placing it back on the floor, I lick my lips, savouring the taste that lingers on them.

“Thank you,” I murmur, my own voice sounding foreign. “For the blanket too.”

He has no reason to be nice to me. Unless of course, he’s buttering me up. But he's made no suggestions.

Zane blinks in surprise. “You're welcome,” he says, a smile in his voice this time. “You looked cold last night.”

“Did you… get in trouble?” I say softly, still finding my voice, unsure if I should even bring up the argument that I overheard.

A smile lights up his face. “Nothing I can't handle,” he chuckles, the sound softening his dangerous appearance. “You don't need to worry about me.”

In this moment, he doesn't look like a killer. The warmevening light from the windows cuts across his face, turning the lines of his jaw and cheekbones golden.

His eyes sparkle with something unreadable. “I'll keep coming to check on you, don't worry, sweetheart.”

The promise releases some tension in my stomach.

What is that feeling?

Hope?

No. That’s ridiculous.

Chapter8

Myles

She's so still when she sleeps. Curled up on the tiny cot bed like some wounded animal, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them.

As if that would keep her safe. Like we aren't all monsters here.

Pathetic.

She’s been here a week now and still hasn’t said a word to me. But it doesn't matter. None of that matters.

Because,fuck, she’s beautiful. Even like this.Especiallylike this.