Page 95 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

LAILAH

T he crackle of the fire pulls me from the haze of dreams and into the chill that has clung to me since Callum carried me here.

My body aches with a bone-deep exhaustion, and as I blink away the sleep, my first thought is of him .

I move my hand, reaching instinctively for the solid presence I’ve come to rely on—but the warmth of Callum’s lap is gone.

My eyes dart around the cave, wide and panicked.

The firelight casts shadows on the walls, the light playing tricks on my mind, but no one’s there.

The emptiness is deafening. I try to rise, to stand on unsteady feet, but the world tilts, and I collapse back to my knees, my breath coming quick and shallow.

Before I can fall further, a hand catches me. It’s strong yet achingly gentle, wrapping around my arm. I look up and meet Casper’s steady, familiar gaze. His expression softens, his dimple carving into his cheek as his lips curve into a faint smile.

“Where is he?” My voice trembles.

The thought of losing Callum is unbearable. I need to see him, to know he’s breathing. Casper brushes his knuckles across my cheek, his touch both reassuring and maddeningly tender.

“He’s safe,” he murmurs. “He’s with Jason, making sure everything runs smoothly. The others are at camp, keeping up the front—making it look like everything is fine. No one suspects anything.”

“We have to go back,” I whisper, shaking my head, unwilling to accept it. Panic stirs again, clawing up my throat. I try to stand, but the effort is futile. My knees buckle, and before I can hit the ground, Casper catches me, his hands steady as iron.

“No,” he says, his tone deepening. “You need to rest.”

“I don’t care—” I manage, my voice breaking as my body trembles beneath the strain. But then his hands rise to my face, cupping it, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“Lailah,” he says, voice low and anchoring. “You’ve used too much magic. You’re in no shape to walk, let alone go anywhere.”

I sigh, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Trust me,” he says, and as I search his gaze, he adds softly, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to them. Or to you.”

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the chaos. For a breath, just one, the storm quiets. I inhale slowly… then nod. But the calm doesn’t last. Another thought surges forward, colder than the last.

“Where is she ?”

Casper’s silence is telling, and it feels like the cave itself holds its breath. The realization of what I’ve done—or nearly done—settles heavily on my shoulders. I glance at him again, searching for answers I’m afraid to hear.

“She won’t be a problem anymore,” he says finally, his voice as gentle as the touch that guides me back down.

Casper moves with purpose, laying out pillows and a bedroll before carefully tucking thick fur blankets over me.

The scent of the fire and the damp cave mingle as I sink into the warmth, though the ache in my chest refuses to ease.

He leaves my side for a moment, returning with a cup of steaming liquid.

“Drink,” he says, holding it out to me.

I reach for it, only to pause as my bare fingers brush his.

Only then do I notice it—the blood. Faint smears still cling to my skin, dark traces from where my hands had pressed into Callum, forcing life back into his body.

My eyes narrow slightly as I take a slow sip, the taste of honey and something floral warming me from the inside out.

He hands me a bowl next—steam curling up from the broth, rich with the scent of meat and potatoes.

I take it without a word. I don’t realize how hungry I am until I’m eating, each bite sinking into the ache inside me like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

The warmth settles in my chest, but it does nothing for the chill pressing against my ribs.

Somehow, that’s what unlocks it.

My mind slips backward, dragged by a memory I’ve spent years trying to outrun.

A barn—splintered wood, the sharp sting of smoke and dust—collapsing around me in a storm of my own making.

I remember the heat of it, the way my magic tore through the air like a scream I couldn’t hold back. I was just a child.

But that never mattered.

The looks on their faces— terror, not pity. The whispers behind closed doors. The punishment that followed. I remember every word, every silence. The way they treated me like a curse, and worse—how I started to believe them.

I thought I’d buried that shame. That version of myself.

But it never really died. It just waited.

Now, it crawls up my throat, cold and bitter, a reminder that I’ve always been something to fear. Something broken.

I glance at Casper. His gaze is steady, with no judgment in his eyes, but that only makes it worse. Because even though he doesn’t look as though I am a curse. I know I already am.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice almost too soft to hear.

His brows knit together, confusion playing across his face.

“For what?”

I swallow hard, looking to the ground as I fight to form the right words—who I am, and who I wish I were, feel like two different people I’ll never be able to reconcile.

“For not looking at me like I’m a monster.”

The silence deepens, the fire the only witness to the unspoken truths lingering in the air. He doesn’t answer, and perhaps he doesn’t need to. Instead, he looks at me with a steady gaze that feels like a promise: no matter what, he sees me. Only me.

The hours pass in stillness, marked only by the soft crackle of the embers and the muted hum of the wind outside the cave. The light from the entrance shifts gradually, from the pale glow of morning to the golden haze of afternoon, until it fades into the dim blue of twilight.

I spend most of the day beneath the heavy furs, the warmth easing the chill that has taken residence in my bones.

My strength is returning, little by little, though the ache in my chest lingers.

Casper is a constant presence, moving around the cave with the silent grace of someone who doesn’t need light to see.

He tends the fire, collects water from a nearby stream, and occasionally places a bowl of food or tea in my hands without a word.

We speak only sparingly, and the quiet feels heavier than the furs draped over me.

It isn’t the awkward silence of strangers, nor the comfortable quiet of friends.

It’s something in between, something restless, as though we’re both waiting for the right words to form but neither of us dares to speak first.

I try to distract myself by watching him.

There’s a rhythm to the way he works—stacking firewood, sharpening a blade, adjusting the stones around the fire—that makes me wonder how he might fight: controlled, calculated, and fiercely protective.

He catches me looking more than once, his dimple appearing in a brief, knowing smile before his gaze shifts back to his task.

Each time, my heart stumbles, as if it’s trying to find a rhythm of its own.

By the time night falls, I feel strong enough to sit up without my head spinning, though my limbs still feel heavier than they should. Casper notices immediately and is at my side in an instant, his brow furrowed with something between concern and relief.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice low and quiet, as though he’s afraid to disturb the fragile peace we’ve managed to carve out here.

“Better,” I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. “Still weak, but... better. ”

He nods, though his eyes linger on me a fraction longer than necessary.

“Good. You need to rest more.”

I bite back a smile, something about his protectiveness both infuriating and endearing.

“I’ll be fine.”

His lips twitch, as if he’s holding back a retort, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he hands me another cup of tea, the warmth seeping into my fingers as I cradle it in my hands.

I want to say something, to fill the space with words that don’t sound vacant, but everything I think of feels inadequate.

So I stay quiet, letting the quiet settle over us.

It’s Casper who finally breaks the stillness.

“You scared me.”

I glance at him, surprised by the admission.

“I scared myself.”

He looks at me then, his eyes darker and softer than I’ve ever seen them.

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

The rawness in his voice cuts through me, and for a breath, I don’t know what to say.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” I manage, forcing a weak smile.

He huffs a quiet laugh, but the heaviness in his gaze doesn’t lift.

“Lailah...” he starts, but whatever he was going to say fades into the crackle of the fire.

The silence returns, thicker now, as if it’s holding all the things we can’t bring ourselves to say.

Instead, we sit there, side by side, watching the flames dance in the darkness.

And though the quiet feels heavy, it doesn’t feel unbearable.

It feels like the beginning of something neither of us fully understands yet.

When I wake again, the fire in the cave has burned low.

The air is heavy, still, and yet I feel lighter somehow.

Strength, tentative and fragile, hums faintly through my limbs.

Pushing the thick fur blanket aside, I rise slowly, my legs trembling as they test their newfound stability.

The silence wraps around me, too quiet. My gaze drifts toward the mouth of the cave, where a pale, silvery glow spills in, beckoning me.

The night air greets me as I step outside, cool and crisp, brushing against my skin.

And then I see him.