Page 24 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

Leaving a gap behind Junie and Deacon, I walk with Stone right on my tail; his steps are light, deliberate.

His presence is oddly comforting, a steady shadow in the wild tangle of trees and heat.

A few hours in, just after we pass a spider the size of a dinner plate, feasting on a bird tangled in its web, he breaks the silence.

“This is your natural terrain, isn’t it, Fox?” he murmurs, voice low and close, careful not to let anyone else hear. His breath dances along the trickle of sweat trailing down my neck.

“Shut up,” I whisper back, not bothering to turn around, though my lips twitch. At least he’s finally brought it up. I was starting to think the night we spent at the outpost was a hallucination.

“I’m just calling it like I see it, Red,” he says, a smirk in his voice. “Creeping through the woods feels on brand for you.”

“I swear to the Gods, if you keep it up, I’ll throw you off a cliff.”

His laugh is low, nearly silent, but it clenches something beneath my ribs. “You’d miss me.”

“Like a hole in the head,” I shoot back, no venom behind it.

He leans in just enough for his shoulder to brush mine. “And who else would be around to beat you in the rankings?”

I glance at him, just a flick of my golden eyes, and catch the glint there. Mischief. Challenge. Something dangerously close to affection.

“Junie, wait!”

Deacon’s shout cuts the air like a blade. My head snaps forward just in time to see him lunging toward her.

Too late.

Junie steps directly onto a blooming patch of purple armillaria.

The fungus erupts, releasing a cloud of black spores that bloom into the air like a dark mist. For a heartbeat, there’s silence. Then the spores shimmer, shift, and surge toward Junie like arrows to a target .

She drops instantly, clawing at her face and screaming, trying to wipe away something she can’t grasp. Like trying to catch smoke, her thrashing does no good.

Stone moves to go after her.

“Don’t.” I throw an arm across his chest, pushing him back. “We can’t touch her for five minutes, or they’ll latch onto us too.”

It’s hell to watch. I dig my nails deep into my palms, feeling the blood well as Junie writhes on the forest floor, her cries sharp and frantic as the spores sting her skin and infiltrate her nose, ears, mouth—anywhere they can reach. But it’s what’s coming next that twists my gut.

The moment five minutes pass, I know. Her body stops convulsing, and she leaps to her feet in an urgent motion. Her eyes snap open and begin to dart, head jerking side to side in a panic.

“Sam—now. Before the hallucinations hit.”

He steps forward, cautiously at first, not wanting to spook her. But the moment Junie locks eyes on him, her expression warps into sheer terror. Her mouth opens, there’s no sound at first, just the desperate gasp of someone trying to scream and failing.

Then it comes. The sound that tears from her throat is something I never want to hear again. High, animal, broken. Her spine bows back, arms flying up to shield her face.

Sam moves fast. One clean hit to the side of her temple. She crumples instantly. He catches her before she hits the ground, hauling her over his shoulder with practised ease. Her arms dangle limp down his back, his hands locked around her trouser-covered legs at his chest.

“What the fuck, man?!” Brynn lunges toward him, but I’m already there, both hands on his chest, shoving him back.

“He had to do it.” My voice is firm and emotionless.

They need me sharp right now, not a devastated mess.

“If she’d stayed conscious, the spores would’ve dragged her into hallucinations worse than nightmares; they were already starting.

It’ll wear off in three hours. She’s safer unconscious until then. ”

The staccato beat of my heart betrays me, but only to myself.

With Junie slumped over his shoulder, Sam now follows closely behind Deacon, and I thank the Gods that Deacon knows these forests as well as I do.

As we move, we begin quietly gathering what we can for later use—various plants, mosses, shrubs—stuffing them into our pockets. We spot a cluster of edible coral coloured berries and pass them to the team, earning quiet murmurs of thanks.

The faint scent of damp moss begins to rise, earthy and cool. When I see Deacon’s head lift slightly, I know he smells it too.

He crouches to run his fingers across a wide, glossy fern, its leaves bouncing from his touch. “Egeria,” he says, glancing back at me with a grin.

“What?” Stone asks. I think I’ve finally found something he’s not skilled at, botany.

“It only grows near water,” I explain. “We’ve been descending for about thirty minutes. I was waiting for it to appear. It means we’re close.”

I smile—a rare, genuine thing that slips through despite the weight of the day. Even with Junie still slumped, unconscious, over Sam’s shoulder, the expression finds me. And he sees it.

Stone’s eyes track the movement, lingering.

Our gazes catch and hold, just for a moment. Something simmers in the space between us, before we both blink it away and press forward, chasing the pull of scent and instinct to find water.

And then I hear it. A trickle. Then, a murmur. The sound of water moving over rock, weaving through the undergrowth, growing louder with every step .

Soon after, finally, we see it. A narrow, bubbling stream, half-hidden by a tangle of vines and roots. Clear and glistening.

Trent lets out a whoop of joy and bolts toward it.

I don’t stop him, I’ve already checked there’s solid footing and nothing deadly for him to tread on.

The others follow quickly behind. Sam kneels beside a mossy patch, gently lowering Junie onto it before cupping his hands in the water and drinking in greedy gulps.

I’m about to move when Stone steps up beside me. His fingers brush against mine, feather-light, before he squeezes my hand.

Then he’s gone, moving to join the others at the water’s edge, and I’m left staring at our team—filthy, exhausted, but alive—slurping from the stream like it’s salvation.

A smile tugs at my lips.

We made it.

So far.