Page 10 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

The day’s hike trudged on for what felt like an eternity.

The jungle was a living thing, all humming, howling, and rustling in the thick, humid air.

Every inch of it had something moving—monkeys swinging in the canopy, birds shrieking, vines creeping up trunks like they were trying to strangle the trees.

The smell of earth and decay clung to the back of my throat, thick and choking.

Wax palms shot into the sky, their broad leaves whispering with the wind, and down below, the black sap of chechén trees dribbled onto the jungle floor like coagulated blood.

I gave those a wide berth.

Same with the pejibaye palms—spikes sharp enough to puncture straight through bone.

Lian stuck by my side, helping me avoid the worst of the tangled undergrowth, his voice polite and soft. I didn’t understand him in the slightest.

Malakai’s crew walked ahead, their voices mixing with the jungle’s noise, but they weren’t waiting for me to catch up. No surprise there. They’d made it clear where I stood: close enough to keep an eye on, but not enough to be one of them.

That was fine. I didn’t need their friendship. But I did need to know them.

I let my mind slip into training mode, cataloging each member of the group like I was preparing for a mission.

Elías walked with an easy stride, but everything about him screamed effort.

His clothes—thick linen embroidered at the sleeves and collar—looked too nice for the jungle, better suited for a stroll through the market squares of Rojas.

He smoothed them often, fussed with his sleeves like he couldn’t stand being anything less than put together.

And every so often, his gaze flicked back toward Lian.

His feelings were about as subtle as a flashing sign, but I wondered if he even admitted them to himself.

Dom, on the other hand, was harder to read.

He moved like he was carved from the jungle itself—like he belonged here more than anywhere else.

Back straight, strides confident, hand never more than a few inches from his hatchet.

He was built like a statue, all thick muscle and sharp edges, but his silence was what set him apart.

He wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

He was a predator, plain and simple, and I was something he hadn’t decided whether to kill or tolerate.

Kerun had all the anger of a caged animal, snapping and growling at everything in his path.

He shoved past the others like they were obstacles, not people.

Complained under his breath.

Fidgeted constantly, his fingers picking at twigs, leaves, his own cuffs.

Something about the way he carried himself screamed nervous energy, like he was waiting for the world to punch him in the gut so he could swing back.

I exhaled slowly. A ragtag bunch of misfits, barely stitched together by Malakai’s orders. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t belong.

A gust of warm air ripped through the trees, turning my sweat cold against my skin. A shiver crawled up my spine. I ignored it and kept moving—until my boot caught on a twisted vine, and I lurched forward.

Lian’s hand shot out, catching my arm before I hit the dirt.

I grimaced, wrenching myself upright. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Thanks,”

I muttered, shaking him off.

He just hummed, like he hadn’t expected anything else.

I clenched my jaw and pressed forward, keeping my head high. Let them all think what they wanted—let them keep their distance, their glares, their suspicions. None of it mattered. I wasn’t staying long enough to care.

“I’m sorry,”

I muttered between ragged breaths, my body screaming in protest with every step. The others were so far ahead that their voices had become little more than a distant hum, lost in the thick heat of the jungle.

Lian gave me that soft, patient smile—the kind I’d only ever seen from him.

"Don’t apologize,”

he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Your body is weak and bruised. There’s no shame in that.”

Maybe there wasn’t. But it didn’t stop the shame from gnawing at my insides like a starving dog. I had never been this weak before. Never struggled to keep up. Never felt so completely at the mercy of my own body.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was him.

Lian still treated me like I was . . . I don’t know. Human. Like I wasn’t the monster the others saw. Like I wasn’t the thing they feared, hated, resented.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I regretted them instantly.

Lian blinked, like I’d just asked him why the sky was blue.

"Would you prefer if I was mean?”

“No,”

I admitted, shoving damp strands of hair from my face.

"But everyone else doesn’t treat me like you do. Dom wants to kill me. Kerun hates me. Even Elías is terrified of me now.”

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care that the dynamic had shifted. I shouldn’t care that the warmth from last night had turned into something brittle and sharp. But I did. Damn me, I did. Some foolish, desperate part of me wanted things to go back to the way they were before. Before they knew. Before they looked at me like I was something to be put down.

Lian let out a small huff of breath, amused.

"Look, we’re all mercenaries here. None of us may be the infamous Nightshade of Rojas, but we don’t exactly live on the straight and narrow either.”

His shoulder-length hair blew back as a gust of wind tore through the trees. That’s when I saw it—the whirring silver device tucked into the shell of his inner left ear. Something elegant. Complex. Mechanical.

I stared, curiosity flaring sharp and insistent, but before I could ask, Lian shifted, pulling his hair forward to cover it.

Too personal.

So I let it go.

“So, you’ve done some things,”

he continued, his tone light but his eyes heavy.

"Well, so have I. You’re not the only one with a past worth running from.”

A shadow flickered across his face, something haunted, something old. His hand twitched against his ear.

I knew that look. Knew what it was to have demons clawing their way up from the depths.

And maybe—just maybe—that was why he didn’t look at me like the others did.

Because he understood.

The thought settled deep in my ribs, wedging itself between the ache of exhaustion and the ever-present pulse of wariness.

I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

But for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, I didn’t feel completely, utterly alone.

Still curious about the device but not wanting to pry—at least, not yet—I shifted the conversation.

"So, what kind of jobs do you all take?”

Lian took a deep breath, his shoulders loosening as if relieved, and gave me one of those soft, knowing smiles.

"Oh, you know, just standard-issue mercenary work. Smuggle this. Infiltrate that. Destroy such and such. Escort so-and-so. Rescue the prisoner of war. Free the felon.”

He said the last part with a modest grin.

I blinked at him.

"Was that a joke?”

His azure eyes danced with mischief.

“An attempt at one.”

He shrugged, all casual.

"Too soon?”

I scoffed, pressing my hand over my mouth to hide the traitorous grin tugging at my lips. Beneath his serene calm was a playful side. I never would’ve guessed.

“What’s it like? Being a mercenary?”

I asked, my voice more curious than I meant it to be.

"Do you like it?”

Lian adjusted the weight of his pack, unscrewed a canteen at his waist, and took a slow swig. Then, without a word, he handed it to me.

I hesitated, then took it. The water was lukewarm and tasted faintly of metal, but it was the best thing I’d had all day.

“I can’t complain,”

he said as I drank.

"I live how I please. Spend my money as I see fit. I get to travel throughout Corinea . . . If that’s not freedom, then I don’t know what is.”

Freedom.

The word hit me harder than it should’ve. Because I didn’t know what that was. Not really. I knew the concept, of course, but I’d never felt it. Never tasted it.

Mother’s control had been absolute. Even in my dreams, I never dared think of a life beyond her grasp.

But what if I had? What if I had the kind of life Lian was talking about? What if I could go where I wanted, do what I pleased, be whoever I chose to be?

A sharp pang stabbed through my chest, something too close to longing. I shoved it down.

“How’d you fall into this line of work?”

I asked, voice steady.

Lian let out a slow breath through his nose.

"It’s sort of a pitiful story.”

I arched a brow.

"You tell me one, and I’ll tell you one.”

Why had I said that? Maybe it was because Lian had this way of making things seem . . . lighter. Easier. Maybe it was the honesty in his voice. Or maybe, some broken part of me wanted to share just a little bit of that honesty, too.

He nodded, his fingers drifting to his ear again.

“Well,”

he started, “like I mentioned last night, I grew up in an orphanage. By the time I was six, I was breaking down and rebuilding any tech I could get my hands on. I didn’t want to be sold to the slavers, so I learned a trade that would make me useful. I was sent to apprentice with a local techie.”

His expression darkened like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

“But my mentor was abusive,”

he said flatly, as if he’d long since learned to swallow the pain.

"And he punished me if I did anything wrong.”

He hesitated, then tucked his hair behind his ear, revealing the intricate silver device wrapped around it.

"I lost my hearing in this ear after one particularly bad beating.”

A sick kind of anger flared in my chest.

“I—”

The words stuck in my throat. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? That’s awful? I’m sorry? He didn’t need my pity. I swallowed my words.

Lian gave me a small, tired smile like he knew what I was thinking. Like he’d heard it all before.

“One day, he came into the workshop drunk and out of his mind,”

he continued.

"He attacked me, and I killed him.”

There it was. The guilt. Sitting heavy on his shoulders. Dragging him down.

I know that weight, I thought.

“I’m a killer too,”

he said quietly.

"For that reason, I won’t be judging you.”

I stiffened.

"We’re nothing alike, Lian.”

He tilted his head, studying me.

“What you did was self-defense,”

I said, heat rising to my cheeks.

"I don’t have the same excuse.”

Lian let out a breathy, humorless laugh.

"Self-defense or not, that fact didn’t matter to the authorities. I was a street rat who’d killed his mentor. They locked me up.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something deep. Like there was more to the story, something unsaid. I recognized the way he hesitated, like he was debating whether to say the next part.

He decided against it.

“I did . . . things to survive,”

he admitted, looking down at his hands.

"Wicked, awful things. Even you would look at me differently.”

Would I?

Somehow, I doubted it.

“Things that not even Malakai knows about,”

he said, his voice softer now.

He met my gaze dead-on, like he was daring me to look away. To flinch.

I didn’t.

“I joined Malakai because he offered me a place where I could belong,”

Lian continued, his voice steady, firm.

"Where my voice was heard and believed. Where I felt safe and cared for. He promised me a home and a family, and he’s delivered on those promises.”

Family.

That word was foreign to me, at least in the way Lian meant it.

Family, for me, had been Mother. Her expectations. Her wrath. Her punishments. I had never been safe. Never been heard. I had been a tool, a weapon, a thing to be honed and used at her discretion.

And yet, Lian had found something different.

Something I had never dared dream of.

I didn’t know what that kind of security felt like. Stability, belonging—things I’d only ever seen from a distance, like a hungry stray watching a family eat through a window. I had to prove my worth every damn day. Otherwise, I was weak. Useless. A disgrace.

The silence stretched between us, but for once, it didn’t feel suffocating.

I swallowed, feeling awkward for asking.

"How old were you?”

Lian glanced up at the sunlight filtering through the tangled canopy, his auburn lashes catching gold. “Eleven.”

The answer landed like a punch to the ribs. Eleven. Eleven.

I’d been fifteen the first time I killed someone, and even now, the memory tasted like ash on my tongue. A flash of red sand. The weight of the knife. The way his body had gone still. I couldn’t imagine doing it at eleven. And then being locked up for it.

A shudder curled down my spine.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,”

I said, the words stiff in my mouth. I didn’t know what I expected him to say, but he didn’t brush it off. He didn’t deflect with humor the way Elías would’ve or meet me with cold indifference like Malakai.

Instead, Lian gave me a look I couldn’t quite decipher—something between gratitude and quiet understanding.

“You asked me why I’m nice to you,”

he said after a pause.

"Everything I’ve been through is why. I had a choice: be angry at the world for my lot in life or do the hard work to heal myself and move past it. I chose the latter.”

Something in my chest twisted hard enough to hurt.

A choice.

Was that all it took?

Could I just wake up one day and decide I wasn’t the blade Mother had sharpened me into? Could I strip away the weight of every life I’d taken? Could I be something other than the Nightshade of Rojas?

The worst part of being Danixtl Zaldanna’s daughter was that I didn’t know who I was without her. Whatever softness I’d once had—racing unbonded alebrijes through the dunes, singing with the quetzals at dawn—had been burned away. Stripped down to bone and steel, until nothing remained but the killer beneath.

The hum of cicadas filled the silence, but my mind was louder.

Lian had chosen something different. And for the first time, a terrible, impossible thought formed in the back of my mind.

Maybe I could, too.

But that was a stupid and foolish thought, and only served as evidence of just how beaten down I was to even think such a thing. Mother was right. I was weak.

Lian gave me a pointed look, the weight of my own words pressing down on me.

"Your turn,”

he said, watching me closely.

Fair was fair.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the bloodied edges of my past creeping up like shadows in my mind.

"I was sent away to train with my mother’s Malditas when I was young. She said I needed to learn discipline.”

I focused on a distant point in the jungle, letting the words come out flat and cold, like I was narrating someone else’s story.

"On my first day, they gave me a way out. A test. Pass it, and I’d go home immediately. No more training. No more beatings. Just home.”

My lips curled bitterly.

"Seemed simple enough.”

Lian didn’t say anything, but I felt his attention sharpen.

“They told me to kill my mentor.”

I couldn’t say her name. Even after all this time.

"She was the captain of my Bloodguard.

The one who practically raised me.

When Mother was too busy dealing with court and war, and whatever else was more important than her own daughter, the captain was the one who took care of me.

And because of that, because she let me run free around the palace, the Malditas decided she was the perfect test.”

Lian sucked in a breath, but I pushed forward before I lost my nerve.

"They gave me four years to kill her. Every single day, a choice. Do it and go home. Don’t, and the training continued.”

My jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.

"And on the day I finally made my choice, I still got it wrong.”

Lian’s voice was quiet.

"What happened?”

“I killed my trainer instead,”

I said, my tone sharp and flat as a blade.

"I thought I was saving her. Thought I was choosing her. But I didn’t know my trainer had tied their life forces together.”

My nails dug into my palms.

"The second I ran my sword through my trainer, the captain fell too.”

A thick silence settled between us. The weight of it pressed into my ribs, into the old wound that never quite healed.

Lian didn’t offer meaningless comfort.

No, ‘it wasn’t your fault,’ or ‘you did what you had to.’ Just a steady presence beside me. Then, after a moment, he placed a warm hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t pity. Wasn’t an empty gesture. Just an acknowledgment. A quiet understanding.

I glanced at him and nodded, a small, barely-there thing.

We walked in silence after that, but for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel heavy. It felt . . . lighter. Almost bearable.

Another hour of trudging through the humid jungle, and I was pretty sure my bladder was going to mutiny.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to keep moving, refusing to acknowledge the very real threat of pissing myself like some helpless child.

Every step sent a sharp reminder through my lower abdomen that I was on borrowed time.

I should’ve peeled off into the trees long ago, like the others had done effortlessly whenever nature called.

But I’d been holding out, waiting for a break that never came, clinging to some idiotic hope that I’d get a moment of privacy without having to ask permission.

I was done waiting.

Beside me, Lian cast a sidelong glance, noticing my tight jaw and the way I was practically vibrating with discomfort.

"You okay?”

he asked, his voice soft.

"We can stop if you’re tired.”

Tired wasn’t the problem. I was about five steps away from exploding.

“Actually,”

I muttered, swallowing my pride, “I need a minute. Privacy.”

I gave him a pointed look, hoping he’d catch my meaning so I didn’t have to spell it out like a damn toddler. But of course, he just blinked at me.

“For—”

His lips parted slightly before his ears went pink. “Oh.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking to the side as if giving me some invisible courtesy of not looking directly at me while discussing bodily functions.

"Right. I, uh—sorry I didn’t ask earlier.”

Lian gestured vaguely behind us.

"If you go that way, you should have some privacy. Just don’t—”

Before he could finish, Malakai prowled toward us, his boots whisper-quiet against the mossy floor. His sharp, violet eyes swept over me, assessing, and I bristled immediately.

“Problem?”

he asked, voice calm but laced with something vaguely amused.

Yes. I need to piss, and you’re in my way. But I wasn’t about to say that.

Instead, I folded my arms, chin tilting up in a challenge.

"Am I not allowed to use the bathroom?”

I asked flatly.

"Or am I still a prisoner?”

Malakai actually took a step back, hands lifting slightly in mock surrender.

"Not at all,”

he said, eyebrows raised, as if I’d accused him of something truly heinous.

"Just don’t go too far into the jungle. Some things are best avoided.”

His words didn’t carry a threat. No, this was a genuine warning. Which made it all the more annoying.

I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel, pushing into the thick underbrush. The second I was out of sight, I exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging. Maybe it was the heat or the exhaustion, but that entire exchange had left a sour taste in my mouth. And I wasn’t sure why.

Then I heard them.

“Anything to report?”

Malakai’s voice, calm and clipped.

Lian’s response was just as sharp.

"I’m not your spy, Mal.”

My muscles went rigid.

Malakai sighed.

"Has she told you anything?”

“Nothing relevant to the rest of the group.”

There was a pause, heavy with meaning.

“Fine,”

Malakai finally said.

"But if she poses a threat—”

“I’ll say something if it comes to that,”

Lian cut him off, firm but even. There was no hesitation, no fear. Just quiet certainty.

Malakai exhaled through his nose.

"Very well.”

I didn’t stick around to hear the rest.

I turned and walked deeper into the jungle, stepping over roots and leaves, my gut twisting in something that wasn’t quite anger, but wasn’t far from it. I didn’t know what was worse—that Malakai clearly didn’t trust me, or that Lian was foolish enough to trust me so flippantly.

The humiliation of both burned hotter than the jungle air.

One thing was clear—I was on borrowed time, and Malakai was wary of me despite his feeble attempts to prove otherwise. I didn’t blame him. I was everything Mother had carved me into.

I pushed deeper into the trees, putting enough distance between myself and the group to guarantee privacy but not enough to get lost. The jungle thickened around me, the humid air pressing against my skin. My boots crunched over damp leaves, and somewhere above, something skittered through the branches.

Lovely. I had no doubt Malakai meant every word about the dangers lurking in this place. I’d spent too much time in a dungeon to get dragged off into the underbrush by some jungle nightmare just because I had to take a piss.

After handling my business, I adjusted my clothes and turned to head back when a flicker of movement in the distance made me stop cold. And then I noticed it.

The jungle had gone quiet.

I wasn’t sure when it happened, but one second there was the usual background noise—the buzz of insects, rustling leaves, the distant howls of something that probably had too many teeth—and the next, nothing. The kind of nothing that made the hair on my arms stand on end.

I stilled, scanning the trees as I buttoned my pants. There was something there. Not a person. Not an animal. Something . . . else.

A shadow shifted between the trees, more absence than shape, like a void bleeding into reality. My pulse ticked up, but I didn’t freeze—I assessed. The thing wasn’t moving closer, but it wasn’t backing off either. Watching. Weighing.

A slow, crawling pressure settled against my ribs, the kind of feeling that sent prey bolting in the opposite direction. But I wasn’t prey, and I didn’t run. I curled my fingers into fists and straightened, keeping my stance loose, my breathing even.

Then—

“Nix!”

Malakai’s voice rang through the trees, casual, lazy.

"What’s taking so long? It’s lunchtime.”

The presence shifted. Not disappeared. Not fled. Just . . . withdrew, like a thief poised to pick a pocket and then deciding against it. I caught something as it receded—a sound, maybe. Not a growl. Not a snarl. Something closer to amusement.

I exhaled through my nose and finished fastening my belt. No point in lingering. Whatever was out there had already decided I wasn’t worth a fight.

I pushed through the trees, back toward the group, already mentally filing away what I’d just experienced. Malakai was waiting for me, arms crossed, but the second he got a look at my face, his expression sharpened.

“What’s wrong?”

His tone was all business, and his hand drifted toward his sword.

Damn. I was going to have to mask even my micro-expressions around the man.

“Nothing,”

I said, stepping past him.

A lie, obviously, and Malakai didn’t buy it for a second. His grip closed around my elbow, stopping me mid-step.

"Try again.”

I sighed, twisting out of his hold and finally meeting his gaze.

"Fine, you annoying man. Yes, something was out there. But it didn’t do anything.”

His violet eyes flicked to the trees behind me.

"What kind of something?”

“If I knew, I’d have stabbed it.”

Malakai exhaled through his nose, lips pressing together.

"You felt it, though.”

“Yeah.”

My fingers twitched at my side.

"Didn’t see it, but I felt it.”

His gaze lingered on me a beat too long.

"What did it feel like?”

I hesitated. Not out of fear, but because I wasn’t sure how to describe it.

"Like a game,”

I finally said.

"Like it was deciding whether or not I was worth the effort.”

Malakai’s mouth tightened.

"You went too far.”

I huffed a short laugh.

"You don’t say.”

“It doesn’t like when we stray.”

Something about the way he said it made my skin itch.

"And it is?”

His eyes stayed on the tree line.

"Something that doesn’t want us here.”

That told me absolutely nothing.

"I love it when you explain everything in excruciating detail. You’re so good at it.”

Malakai’s eyes roved down the length of me like he was checking for missing pieces.

"Next time, take someone with you.”

I met his stare and raised a brow.

"Next time?”

His mouth quirked.

"Just in case you get lucky and it decides you are worth the effort.”

I snorted, shoving past him.

"If it tries, I’ll make it regret the decision.”

Malakai let out a short, low chuckle, but his eyes flicked back to the trees, and I had a feeling he wasn’t as amused as he let on.

The moment Malakai started actually answering, I knew whatever he was about to say wasn’t going to make me feel better.

“It’s called a cuegle,”

he said, his voice quieter, as if speaking its name too loudly might call it back.

"An ancient creature that once served the queens of Corinea. It could look into a person’s soul and see their past, present, and future. If it found evil in their heart, it passed judgment.”

His mouth curled at the corners.

"Judgment usually meant execution.”

I exhaled sharply in annoyance.

"Awesome. Well, tell it to join the club of people who want to kill me. The list is long, so it might be waiting a while.”

Malakai let out a humorless chuckle and captured my elbow once more.

"This isn’t a joke, Nix. The cuegle was a fearsome creature before it went stark raving mad. And, like any power, the cuegle wasn’t above corruption. Eventually, it started passing judgment on people for the wrong reasons—political reasons, personal grudges, its own whims. It became too dangerous. Unpredictable. Vengeful. So, it was banished to Endrina.”

He gestured vaguely to the jungle around us.

"An eternity in darkness and fear. That was its sentence.”

A slow, crawling sensation traced up my spine, like fingers made of ice. A creature that spent centuries passing death sentences, now stuck here, waiting for anyone dumb enough to stumble into its hunting grounds.

I swallowed the unease creeping up my throat.

"It stopped,”

I said, thinking back to that moment in the jungle—the second Malakai had called my name, the thing had recoiled.

"When it heard your voice. It stopped.”

Malakai nodded, releasing his grip on my arm like he hadn’t just dropped a horrifying bedtime story into my lap. “Good,”

he said simply, turning back toward the others.

"Then it hasn’t forgotten.”

I stared at his back.

"Forgotten what?”

He glanced down at me, his violet eyes dark and gleaming.

"Who the real apex predator in this jungle is.”

A fresh chill settled under my skin.

Malakai kept walking, casual as ever, like he hadn’t just compared himself to a soul-devouring monster.

I stood there for a beat longer, watching him.

Then I followed.

At a very respectable distance.