Page 87 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

“He has everything to do with this,” Casper growls, stepping closer again. “You think I don’t see the way he looks at you? The way he’s always nearby, waiting for the chance to take what he thinks is his?”

I tilt my chin up defiantly.

“And what do you see, Casper?”

His lips press into a thin line, his fists clenching at his sides.

“I’m not the man you think I am,” he says. “And you have no idea what it’s going to cost me to be that man. To be what you deserve.”

The confession leaves me stunned, the atmosphere charged with a mixture of pain and longing. I step forward, my breath shaky, pleading.

“Then stop hiding behind your walls, Casper. Don’t push me away—don’t make me fight this alone.”

He closes his eyes for a long moment, as if waging a battle he’s already lost. When he opens them again, there’s a softness there I’ve never seen before, but it’s fleeting. He doesn’t answer right away, and I study his face, searching for a hint of the truth he keeps so tightly guarded.

But before he can speak, the sound of heavy footsteps interrupts us. Jason storms into the tent, his hair damp, his jaw clenched. The scent of soap clings to him, washing away whatever lingered from Celaena .

Jason’s gaze locks onto mine, dark and furious.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he snaps.

I meet his glare evenly, refusing to be intimidated.

“You were already doing it before I was involved,” I reply. “At least I made sure it was worth it.”

I slide off the desk, my movements slow and deliberate as I walk past him. I pause at the entrance, glancing back at both men.

“Just so we’re clear, I don’t trust either of you,” I say, the finality in my tone leaving no room for argument.

I step out of the tent, letting them argue over their next moves.

The crisp night air greets me, and I spot Celaena across the campsite.

She’s wrapped in her dark cloak, her cheeks flushed as her eyes meet mine.

She pulls the fabric tighter around herself and quickly retreats to Gwyn’s tent.

I let out a slow breath, lowering my gaze to the ground, but a flicker of movement catches my attention.

Across the campground, Callum sits alone at a fire, his face lit by the flames.

My jaw tightens, and I bite the inside of my cheek, debating whether to approach him. Against all reason, I find myself walking toward him.

Callum glances up briefly as I approach, his expression guarded, before dropping his gaze back to the fire.

I hesitate for a moment before sitting on the log across from him.

My hands clasp together in my lap as I chew on the words that refuse to form.

The silence feels heavy, but not uncomfortable.

It’s strange—we’ve often entertained a clashing of our barbed tongues and stubborn wills.

But tonight, the usual fire is absent, replaced by something quieter.

I let my gaze linger on him, on the way he avoids meeting my eyes.

He betrayed me once, and the memory of it still burns.

But tonight, his silence speaks of a different kind of loyalty.

He could have broken my trust again, but he didn’t.

That choice, small as it might seem, feels monumental.

The fire crackles, its warmth a welcome reprieve from the chill in the air.

For the first time, we sit without words, without blame or accusations.

In the quiet, an understanding passes between us.

We don’t need to speak to acknowledge it: I see him, and he sees me. Imperfect, bruised, but still standing. And somehow, in this moment, that silent understanding is enough.

For now.

It feels like hours have passed since I left Jason and Casper to argue in the tent, though it can’t have been more than a handful of minutes.

The crackle of the fire fills the silence, the light painting shadows across the camp.

The night air is heavy with the scent of smoke and damp earth, the stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or distant howl of a beast in the wilderness.

I glance across the fire pit and find Callum’s eyes fixed on me.

His stare feels like a physical weight, clawing at my attention despite my better judgment.

His gaze lingers too long, tracing the curve of my shoulders, the line of my jaw.

Something foreign—pain, longing—softens his features, and I forget to breathe.

His eyes meet mine, and I see it clearly now: hurt, not lechery, laced in every unspoken word.

The intensity of his expression unsettles me.

I should be furious, offended by the way he looks at me, but instead, there’s something about the vulnerability in his stare that roots me to the spot. It looks like… love.

I frown, pulling my brows together. The words form on my tongue, scathing and defensive, but they falter when I see him shift, his lips parting as if he might speak first. I take a breath, ready to break the silence, but the moment shatters as footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me.

Alias and Gwyn stride into the clearing, their presence as easy and confident. Gwyn carries a bundle of kindling under one arm, while Alias tosses a blade of grass he’s been chewing onto the ground. They settle onto a nearby log, their chatter cutting through the silence like a knife.

“Looks like you’ve all been enjoying the quiet,” Alias teases, shooting me a knowing glance.

Gwyn raises a brow at Callum, sensing the stiffness in his posture.

He doesn’t bother to mask the way his shoulders straighten, his jaw tightening as if bracing for a comment he knows is coming.

She doesn’t say anything right away, though, instead kneeling to set the kindling down beside the fire with a slowness that only heightens the discomfort hanging in the air.

When she finally straightens, brushing her hands off on her pants, she turns her attention fully to him. Her gaze flickers between Callum and me, the corner of her mouth quirking into a sly, knowing smile.

“Looks like a cat caught your tongue,” Gwyn says, her voice dripping with sarcastic playfulness, though there’s an undertone of affection in her teasing.

She crosses her arms, her head tilting slightly as she waits for a reaction. Callum’s shoulders relax as he exhales and pulls on his mask of nonchalance.

“More like a dog,” he counters smoothly, his eyes flicking toward me with a smile that’s equal parts mischievous and wistful.

I catch the way he looks at me, the subtle warmth in his expression, and despite myself, I smile back faintly, shaking my head as if to brush off the moment. But it lingers—an unspoken thread of understanding between us that feels fragile and unsteady.

Swallowing hard, I force myself to look away. The crackling flames draw my attention, the dance of the fire offering a small distraction from the fluttering in the pit of my stomach. The heat of the fire doesn’t match the warmth in my chest, but at least it doesn’t ask questions I can’t answer.

Alias pulls a carrot from his pocket, biting down on it with an exaggerated crunch that seems far louder than it has any right to be.

Gwyn rolls her eyes, but there’s a small, affectionate smile tugging at her lips as she watches him.

Alias, noticing her gaze, pauses dramatically and chomps down again, the smirk on his face widening.

Gwyn sighs, shaking her head, before settling beside him on the log. She pulls out a blade and a whetstone, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone blending with the crackle of the fire.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I say, tilting my head as I glance at Alias, “but you seem to have misplaced your true dinner. ”

He freezes mid-chew, his vibrant gaze snapping to me. For a beat, he says nothing, his expression somewhere between amusement and mock offense. Then, with a broad grin that bares his elongated canines, he holds the carrot out like a dagger, pointing it in my direction.

“Why? Are you offering?” he says, his tone playful and teasing.

Before I can retort, Gwyn smacks him upside the head, the sound clear enough to echo. Alias yelps, clutching the back of his head as he glares at her.

“What was that for?” he demands, rubbing the spot she struck.

“For being insufferable,” Gwyn replies, her voice calm as she continues sharpening her knife.

Callum snorts, rolling his eyes at the exchange, while Alias scowls at Gwyn, muttering under his breath. She doesn’t even look at him, her mouth widening just enough to show she’s enjoying his indignation.

Alias rubs the back of his head, still pouting.

“You know, Gwyn, one day you’re going to miss me when I’m gone,” he grumbles, glaring at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Not if you keep acting like a child,” Gwyn shoots back without missing a beat. “And stop pretending that hurt. You’re more durable than that.”

I glance between them, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Does he always behave this way?” I ask Gwyn, leaning forward slightly.

“Always,” she replies dryly, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Alias thrives on annoying people. It’s like air to him.”

Alias gasps, clutching his chest theatrically.

“You wound me, Gwyn. Right here.” He points to his heart.

Gwyn rolls her eyes, though I catch the faintest trace of a smile before she refocuses on her blade.

“You’ll live.”

“So how did you two meet?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. “Did he start pestering you the moment you crossed paths, or did it take time? ”

Gwyn chuckles under her breath.

“Oh, he was worse when we first met. Overconfident, reckless, and convinced he could charm his way out of anything.”

Alias interrupts with a grin.

“And you loved every second of it.” Alias says with a teasing grin, leaning back casually, clearly enjoying the attention.