Page 39 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

I wake to the sound of quiet talking, stretching as my back pops in several places. These bed rolls offer little to no protection from the hard ground.

By the fire, I spot Deacon and Gio laughing, and I can’t help but smile. Those two always did get along, Gio treating Deacon like a younger brother, even though there are barely four years between them.

It was one of the things I liked most about Gio—his complete acceptance of Deacon. Of our friendship. That kind of understanding isn’t common. Having a partner who shows no jealousy over a male best friend? That’s rare.

Still, not enough reason for me to string him along, though.

I sit up slowly, careful not to wake Junie, who’s curled beside me with her face buried deep in the bedroll, the fur blanket pulled so tight around her that only the tip of her nose peeks out.

Just as I shift to stand, he’s there—Stone—crouching beside me like a shadow, sudden and silent. His voice grazes my ear, low and dangerous.

“So he’s the ex, huh?” he murmurs, tilting his head subtly toward Gio.

I don’t answer. Can’t. My pulse is thudding too loudly in my ears. The heat of his body so close sends a spark along my spine .

He leans in further, breath feathering across my skin. “Tell me, Red… did he ever make you feel as out of control as I do?”

His fingers slide through a strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear with agonising slowness. His rough knuckles trail down my jawline like a brand, and I swear my whole body ignites.

“Did he ever make you feel this hot,” he whispers, “when it’s minus ten outside?”

My breath catches—sharp, involuntary—and that’s all he needs. He rises smoothly, like he’s just won some private war, and walks away without looking back.

I’m left clenching the blanket, my skin flushed, my thighs tight. Gods, the way he moves, all lethal grace and coiled power. The broad expanse of his back, the sword slung over it like it belongs there. And those combat trousers around his ass? Unfair. Just unfair.

I roll my eyes back in sheer, heated frustration.

I drag in a breath that burns colder than the mountain air and shove the blanket off, even though the frost bites instantly at my arms. The cold should help. It should . But it just makes my skin prickle more, like it’s starving for heat—for his heat.

Asshole.

Gorgeous, infuriating, smug, sexy asshole .

* * *

We continue our ascent towards the peak, steadily going uphill for hours, our breathing becoming harder now at such a high altitude.

It’s when we hit a dead end that I think Gio has made a wrong turn, but he simply rummages through his pack to pull out rope and climbing gear, and I realise he hasn’t made a mistake at all. No. We need to climb.

The rock face towers above us, jagged and steep enough to make everyone fearful. It’s the last vertical stretch before the summit, and there’s no easy route.

Gio plants his feet near the base. His voice is steady when he turns to us.

“We’ve got to climb here, but we will do it roped in groups and anchor every ten feet. If one of you slips, the rest need to hold, or we all go down.”

He doesn’t wait for an argument. Doesn’t ask if anyone’s done this before. He just looks at me, nods once like he knows I’ll be fine, then tosses a coil of rope to Deacon.

Beside me, Junie’s hands shake slightly as she tightens her gloves.

Trent’s jaw is clenched, like he’s trying to stop his teeth from clacking together, the cold digging into him more than he’ll admit.

Behind them, Davin adjusts his gear with an almost lazy ease.

Of course, he’s fine. He’s made this climb before—multiple times.

I strap into my harness, check Junie’s knots, and then double-check my own.

Stone steps up beside me, already roped to a smaller team.

Our eyes meet briefly, just long enough for something wordless to pass between us, memories of our climb together months ago.

He knows I’ve done this before. I know he has, too.

We both look up. It’s a long way to the top.

Gio starts first. Picks slam into the rock with sharp, practised strikes.

The sound rings out, steady and brutal. He climbs like the soldier he is, efficient and calculated.

Davin follows next, and it’s almost infuriating how easily he moves—gliding up the stone like a damn mountain goat, setting spikes and clipping rope like it’s just a morning walk.

Then it’s my turn.

The second I press my fingers to rock, my body kicks into rhythm. It’s instinct. I find holds others might miss, trust the stone where others might panic. But the cold bites hard, and my breath comes fast; this climb is harder than most due to the conditions.

Junie struggles below me. I feel it in the rope—the slight, jarring tension of a misstep. Her foot slips and catches. She grunts and curses under her breath but keeps going. Determined.

Trent’s slower, stiff from the cold and the thinning air. His movements are jerky, not unskilled, just dulled—like his limbs aren’t responding the way they should. But he keeps moving, too. We all do. There’s no choice.

We’re past the halfway point when I hear it. And my heart lurches.

A boot scraping too fast.

A gasp. Sharp and wrong.

Then the shout.

“Ryans!”

The name slices through the cold like a blade and echoes across the stone.

I twist instinctively, but I already know. His rope goes taut—once—then snaps loose.

He falls.

A smear of motion in the corner of my eye.

A crack, loud and final.

Then silence.

I clench my eyes shut, refusing to look. I don’t want to see the body. I don’t want that in my head. Not now. Not here.

Junie lets out a small whimper. I feel her clutch the rope tighter below me.

“Keep climbing,” Gio calls from above. Just those two words.

He’s right.

We can’t stop. Not here. Not when stopping might mean another death.

So I force my boots into the next crevice. Higher. Higher. The cold sinks deeper, burning through the fabric of my gloves, freezing my breath as it leaves my lips. My limbs ache. My arms tremble. My body wants to quit. But I won’t let it.

I push through.

By the time we near the top, I can barely feel my legs. My shoulders are dusted with snow, my chest heaving in short, ragged bursts. The air’s too thin. My vision dances at the edges. But I keep going.

Davin’s already at the summit, crouched near the lip, casual as anything. His hand extends down without hesitation, steady and sure.

I take it.

He hauls me up with practised strength, and I drag myself over the final ledge, knees scraping, lungs on fire. I spin immediately, reaching down for Junie, locking my grip around her wrist, and hauling her the last few feet.

When we’re both clear, I drop to my knees in the snow, the rope still taut at my waist, heart hammering, limbs shaking with exhaustion.

One gone.

Ryans is gone.

Before I can think, Stone is kneeling in front of me. He strips one glove off with his teeth, his bare hand sliding up into my hair, pulling me close until our foreheads touch. His breath ghosts over my lips, warm despite the cold.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re safe.”

My eyes lock onto his. I try to steady my breathing and focus.

“We’ve made it,” he says again, voice softer now.

“Gods, Stone…” My voice breaks. “The relief I felt when it wasn’t one of our names called—when I heard Ryans’ name instead…”

My hands shake as I press them to my face, shame curling deep in my gut. “I know his sister. She was the year below me and Deacon. He was only twenty-six. But I still…”

The whispered confession stings. Like I’ve just admitted to something cruel. Inhuman.

Stone’s eyes soften, though. He doesn’t flinch away. Doesn’t judge me.

“My heart stopped the second I heard that slip,” he says quietly. “And it didn’t start again until your name wasn’t called.”

And all I can do is stare at him.

But the moment shatters as Davin’s voice cuts through the wind.

“We need to keep moving,” he says, crisp and direct. “If we stay up here much longer, we’ll freeze when night falls. There’s a sheltered outcrop about an hour from here.”

No one argues. We’re too cold, too wrung out, too aware that standing still up here is just another way to die.

So we rise—one by one—and begin the slow descent down the mountain.

* * *

The outcrop Davin leads us to is little more than a hollow gouged into the side of the mountain, shielded from the worst of the wind but still bitterly exposed.

Everyone clusters close to a fire, wrapped in furs, shoulders hunched against the cold.

The silence hangs heavier than the snow-laden sky above us.

No one speaks of Ryans.

But we all think of him.

Junie wraps herself tighter in her blanket and stares at the ground. Deacon’s quiet, his usual sarcasm swallowed by grief and altitude. His face pale.

I don’t sit. Not at first. I keep my back to the others, eyes on the ridge we just descended. Every part of me aches.

A presence steps up behind me. I don’t need to turn to know it’s him .

Stone doesn’t speak—he just stands close enough for our shoulders to almost touch. I feel the heat of his body through my coat.

“Come sit near the fire,” he says softly. “You need to warm up.”

I nod, pulling my mother’s cloak tighter under my chin, and follow him.

But just as I move to sit, Sam’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and wary. “Elina.”

I turn to find him standing a little apart from the others, eyes narrowed as he scans the darkness beyond the rocks.

“You feel that?” he asks as I stand beside him.

I stiffen. I thought it was grief. Guilt. The echo of Ryans’ scream still ringing in my bones.

But the tightness in my gut is something else entirely.

“Something’s off.” Sam doesn’t look at me, still watching the ridge. “I don’t know what it is yet, but it feels like we’re being watched.”

And that’s it. That’s the feeling gnawing at me.

Eyes.

Somewhere out there in the white.

Watching.

Waiting.

That night, as I lean back and let my head rest against the furs and bedroll, I watch the stars flicker and dance above—brilliant in the high, thin air—and I wonder what might be stalking us out there in the dark.

“Elina.”

I wake to someone nudging me, their voice urgent, laced with panic.

Trent’s face comes into focus, his expression tight with worry.

“Something’s wrong with Deacon.”

I sit up so fast I nearly headbutt him, already scrambling to my feet, heart pounding in my throat as my eyes sweep the camp.

I spot Gio first, his arms outstretched, blocking someone with a tense, wide stance.

Then I see Deacon.

My breath catches like I’ve been struck.

He’s ghost-pale, sweat sheening his face, his chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven bursts like he’s trying to breathe through water. His eyes dart wildly, unseeing, as though he’s trapped in a nightmare.

I surge forward, but Sam’s arm wraps around my waist, anchoring me.

“Let me go,” I snap, struggling against him, panic rising like bile. “Let me go!”

“Jus’… lem’ee pash…” Deacon mumbles. His voice is slurred, barely recognisable. His legs buckle slightly beneath him, like his body’s giving out.

“What’s wrong with him?” My voice cracks in panic. “What’s happening?”

“Altitude sickness,” Sam says grimly, holding me tighter.

“Davin’s trying to get close with the medicine, but Deacon’s not seeing anyone clearly. Keeps lashing out,” Stone adds, tension lining every word.

Then I see it. Davin flickering in and out of sight, barely more than a shimmer as he slips forward, using his gift to edge closer to where Gio’s planted, arms spread like a barrier.

And Deacon—he’s moving again.

Toward the ravine.

The cliffside gapes just a few feet away, wind shrieking up from the abyss, dragging at his cloak like it’s trying to pull him in. Rocks scatter beneath his boots, tumbling away into the dark.

“Deacon, it’s me,” Gio calls, voice tight. “You’re getting too close. Look at me.”

But Deacon’s gaze is empty, unfocused; he stumbles again, one foot sliding dangerously close to the edge .

I feel my stomach twist.

“Let me go, Sam.” My voice is low but commanding, and this time, Sam releases me without hesitation.

“Elina, wait—” Stone reaches out, but I’m already moving, sprinting across the frozen ground, weaving past Gio without slowing.

Deacon doesn’t even see me.

I slam my fist into his temple—quick, clean, ruthless. His eyes roll back, and his knees buckle; Gio catches him before he hits the rock.

Davin materialises beside us in an instant, already tipping the tincture to Deacon’s lips, coaxing the liquid into his mouth, and gently massaging his throat until he swallows.

The silence is deafening. The wind howls. No one dares move.

I don’t breathe.

Then Deacon groans.

“What the fuck, Elina?” he croaks, rubbing the side of his head.

I lunge and wrap my arms and legs around him in a furious bear hug.

“You stupid idiot!” I shout, pulling back just enough to smack his chest. “Why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?”

He winces and rubs the spot I hit. “I was fine… until this morning.”

My hands tremble as I rub salve into the spot on his temple where I struck him, the small tin passed silently from Junie to me.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again, Deacon,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the bruise forming beneath my fingers. I can’t look him in the eye, not yet. Not with the gut-wrenching fear still burning behind mine.

He nods, solemn and quiet.

After one final hug, tight and lingering, I rise to my feet. My legs quake beneath me, weak with adrenaline and relief.