Page 12 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

Once all the tents had been set up, we huddled around the fire waiting for dinner to cook. The flames cracked and spat embers into the night air, its glow stretching long, flickering shadows across the jungle floor. The clearing felt smaller with all of us huddled around the heat, our bodies exhausted from the day’s hike.

I picked a spot next to Lian, and Malakai settled in on my other side—close, but not too close. Not close enough to be noticeable, anyway.

A deer turned slowly on a spit, the fat sizzling as it dripped into the fire. The smell should’ve made my mouth water—Elías had rubbed it down with chanterelles and fresh basil, the earthy scent of mushrooms mixing with the sharp, herbal bite of oregano. It was, by all accounts, a feast compared to what I was used to.

Still, I wasn’t hungry. Or at least, not in the way I should’ve been.

Pitching a tent should’ve been simple, but even the easiest tasks seemed beyond me. I hadn’t lied to Malakai—Mother never considered skills like that worth my time. Just another thing she hadn’t prepared me for. Another part of me I’d let her shape.

When food was ready, I found myself prodding at the venison on my plate with the tip of my fork, moving it from one side to the other in a pointless little dance. A few feet away, Dom sat with his legs stretched out, his arms crossed like he was preparing for an argument he hadn’t started yet. His gaze burned into me, heavy with resentment, his hazel eyes tracking my every movement.

I ignored him. Or tried to.

Next to me, Malakai shifted, his arm brushing against mine for the briefest second. The heat of his skin was like a brand, an unwanted reminder that we were stuck in this together.

I kept my gaze locked on my plate, but the weight of his presence, the quiet command in the way he carried himself, was impossible to ignore. Even when he wasn’t speaking, Malakai had this way of making sure you knew exactly where he was.

And right now, he was too damn close.

“Something wrong with the food, princess?”

Dom’s voice cut through the relative quiet, sharp and full of disdain.

"Not good enough for someone of your high standards?”

A slow, sharp burn curled in my stomach, but I bit down on the inside of my cheek, forcing the impulse to snap back into submission. If I let him get under my skin, he’d win. And I’d been humiliated enough for one lifetime.

Instead, I leaned forward, took my fork, and deliberately stabbed a piece of meat, making sure the fat glistened in the firelight. Keeping my gaze locked on his, I dragged the bite into my mouth and swallowed.

“Actually,”

I said, my voice smooth, steady, “I find it delicious.”

I set my fork down with a soft clink against the metal plate.

"Thank you for making the hunt today. I know that must have been difficult in these damp conditions. I’m just not very hungry tonight.”

Dom’s sneer deepened, his hazel eyes narrowing like a predator assessing weak prey.

"You expect me to believe that? You don’t have an appetite after a long hike?”

He scoffed, shifting back from the fire as if my very presence was an offense.

Elías, ever the instigator, lifted his fork, tapping it against his chin in thought.

"It’s not uncommon for people to lose their appetite after exertion,”

he mused.

"Especially when they’re not used to so much physical activity, which I imagine is true for Nix since she was cooped up in that dungeon for so long—.”

“Elías.”

Lian shot him a pointed look.

Elías shrugged.

"Just saying.”

Dom exhaled sharply, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he turned his attention to his plate, cutting into his food with unnecessary force.

I exhaled through my nose, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Elías might have meant well, but the last thing I needed was someone pointing out my weakness, especially when I was already choking on it.

I glanced at Malakai. He hadn’t spoken, but I knew he was listening. Always listening. He sat beside me, his body angled slightly in my direction, his long fingers resting on his knee as he observed the exchange with quiet amusement.

The firelight flickered over his silver hair, making it gleam like molten metal. His violet eyes caught the light in a way that was almost unnatural—too sharp, too knowing. It irritated me how easily he settled into a place of quiet authority, as if he owned the space around him without ever needing to prove it.

“Don’t let Dom get to you,”

he said, voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.

I barely turned my head toward him.

"Who says he’s getting to me?”

Malakai’s smirk was lazy, almost indulgent.

"Because if he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be holding that fork like you’re considering using it as a weapon.”

I stiffened, realizing my grip on the utensil had gone tight, my knuckles blanched. I forced my fingers to relax.

“Not everything is about violence,”

I muttered.

Malakai tilted his head, and for the first time, there was something unreadable in his expression. Not amusement, not arrogance—something else. Something dangerous.

"Isn’t it?”

The way he said it, low and almost contemplative, sent a shiver down my spine.

I turned my focus back to my plate, ignoring the way his gaze lingered, the way it seemed to study me. Like he was peeling back layers, trying to see the parts of me I kept buried.

I didn’t want him looking too closely. I didn’t want him seeing me.

Because if he did, he might realize that beneath all the blood and sharp edges, there was something else entirely—something small and desperate and afraid.

And that was far more dangerous than anything I could ever do with a blade.

Across from me, Kerun watched like a vulture eyeing a fresh kill—still, but coiled, vibrating with barely leashed tension. His eyes gleamed, not with childish excitement, but something colder. Hungrier. Like he’d spent years surviving by reading people like me and hadn’t decided yet if I was predator or prey.

He didn’t fidget. He studied.

And then, casually—like he was asking what time it was—he asked, “So. How many people have you killed?”

The question landed like a blade in my ribs. My fork slipped from my fingers and clattered against the plate. Around the fire, the air shifted.

Conversations hiccupped, trailed off. I didn’t need to look to feel the ripple of discomfort—Dom stiffening, Elías going quiet, Lian sucking a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Kerun,”

Lian hissed, and lobbed a piece of tortilla at his head. It smacked him squarely in the forehead and slid into his beans.

Kerun didn’t flinch. Just gave a half-smirk, wiped his face, and muttered, “What? Everyone’s thinking it.”

He stabbed at his food like it had offended him. But his gaze flicked back to me, razor-sharp and unrepentant. Waiting.

No one said anything, but the weight of their stares was enough. The tension in my shoulders coiled tighter, the old muscle memory of having to be ready at all times humming under my skin. I picked up my fork again and resumed pushing the food around my plate, pretending my stomach wasn’t twisting into knots.

Malakai cleared his throat, and I flicked my gaze to him, already bracing myself for whatever was coming. His violet eyes were unreadable, but there was something else in them—something careful.

“I expect you got to see a lot of Rojas while you were growing up,”

he said, deliberately casual.

"Did you ever make it to the Mountains of Fire?”

I barely kept my expression neutral. If he was trying to steer the conversation away from my kill count, it wasn’t a bad attempt.

Still, the question twisted something inside me. The Mountains of Fire. The sacred peaks in the south, where the sun turned the rock to liquid gold at dawn and dusk. The birthplace of the alebrijes, if you believed the old stories. Mother certainly didn’t. To her, the mountains were a relic of superstition, and superstition was a disease to be stamped out with cold logic and sharper knives.

“I’m afraid not,”

I said, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.

Malakai tilted his head, his gaze flickering across my face, like he knew there was more.

I exhaled and gave him the truth—or, at least, the edges of it.

"I spent most of my time training in the desert or locked inside the palace. I was only permitted to leave if I was on a mission.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t press. Maybe he saw what I didn’t say, the years of my childhood traded for drills, sparring matches, and bruises that never had time to heal before new ones replaced them. Maybe he already knew that my life had never been my own.

Across the fire, Kerun’s leg bounced, his eyes pinned to me like I was some rare beast he wanted to dissect.

"Is it true they leave you in the desert?”

he asked, voice low, deliberate.

"Three weeks. No food. No water. Nothing but sand and whatever decides to crawl out of it.”

I didn’t answer right away. Just stared at him, letting the silence stretch, letting him feel the weight of the truth before I dropped it.

“Three weeks is mercy,”

I said finally.

"I was out there three months.”

His lips parted, not in awe, but something darker—something like hunger. His fingers tapped against his plate, quick, agitated.

"What’d you eat?”

Lian groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Don’t encourage him.”

Kerun ignored him completely.

"Did you kill anything?”

His eyes burned into mine.

"Something that tried to kill you first?”

I didn’t look away.

"A few things.”

“And the vultures?”

he pressed, voice sharper now.

"I heard the Malditas starve you so the birds start circling. They want to see if you’ll give up when the sky starts to watch.”

I stared at him, wondering how someone so young could sound so damn ancient. Not frightened. Not horrified. Just . . . intrigued.

“Kerun,”

Dom snapped, his voice like a whip.

But Kerun didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just kept watching me like he was waiting to hear how close I’d come to dying—and whether I’d liked it.

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind about what happened,”

I muttered, reaching for my waterskin.

“But is it true?”

Kerun pressed.

I took a long sip of water and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand before answering.

"The desert has a way of killing anything weak. Either you learn how to outlast it, or you become part of it.”

Across the fire, Dom let out a scoff so sharp it could’ve cut through bone. His plate hit the ground with a loud clatter, half-eaten venison tumbling onto the dirt.

“That’s enough,”

he snarled before pushing up to his feet.

Kerun didn’t blink.

"I wasn’t talking to you.”

Dom’s jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he might throttle the kid.

Next to me, Lian rubbed at his temples like this was all painfully familiar.

Without another word, Dom stormed off, his boots crunching over dry leaves as he disappeared into the trees.

Malakai tracked him with his eyes, his face unreadable, but I caught the flicker of something beneath the surface. Resignation, maybe. He let out a slow exhale, then turned his gaze back to me. I didn’t return it. I was too busy bracing for Kerun’s next barrage of questions.

Kerun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes gleaming in the firelight. He shot a glance at the others as if challenging them to stay and hear what I had to say.

“Just because you’re all too chicken to ask doesn’t mean I won’t,”

he bit out. Tilting his head, he asked, “So? What was it like?”

Next to me, Malakai pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply, like he was gathering the patience of a saint.

I set my plate aside and leaned back on my palms, studying Kerun for a long moment before answering.

"Well, there are five stages of breaking,”

I said, my voice even, careful.

"The first is deprivation of food, water, and shelter.”

Kerun’s expression brightened, his mouth parting as if he were about to throw another question my way, but I cut him off before he could speak.

"Yes, they drop you in the middle of the desert with only the clothes on your back and come back three months later if you’re like me and they think you’re weak. They’d rather see you die than bring back dead weight.”

Kerun sat back slowly, a small, twisted smile playing at his lips.

"You didn’t have a weapon? Nothing at all?”

I flicked my gaze to the ground, shaking my head. “Nothing.”

“So how’d you make it? What’d you do?”

I licked my lips, my stomach twisting at the memory. I hadn’t thought about this in a long time—hadn’t let myself. But now it came creeping back in, sliding against the edges of my mind like a blade against skin.

“I followed a coyote to its den one day and found a litter of pups—”

Malakai shot to his feet, the sudden movement drawing all eyes to him.

"Okay, I think that’s enough for one night,”

he said, forcing a tight, wary smile. His weight shifted from foot to foot, a tell I was starting to recognize—he was uncomfortable.

"I think we can all imagine what came next,”

he added, rubbing the back of his neck, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab his sword instead.

Kerun let out a low, strangled sound—half snarl, half groan—his eyes wide with barely leashed frustration.

But Malakai didn’t so much as flinch. He didn’t need to. One look from him, and Kerun fell silent, jaw tight and nostrils flaring like a tethered predator forced to sit still.

He grabbed the boy by the elbow and hauled him to his feet, ignoring the way Kerun tried to dig his heels into the dirt.

“But we were just getting to the good part!”

Kerun growled, twisting in Malakai’s grip.

Malakai didn’t humor him with a response. He just dragged him toward the tent he shared with Dom, his hold firm but not cruel.

I could hear Kerun’s protests all the way across camp, a string of complaints about how no one ever let him hear the interesting stories, how it wasn’t fair, how Malakai was ruining his life.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, something like amusement tugging at the corner of my lips. He reminded me of myself when I was younger. So eager. So curious. Traits Mother had been intent on exterminating.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach, suddenly grateful I hadn’t eaten much. The breaking had taken months. Not because I was particularly skilled or strong—but because I’d been too damn stubborn to give in.

And maybe, in some ways, I still was.

Lian nudged me gently.

"You okay?”

I flinched before I could stop myself, my body recoiling from the sudden touch. His hand had barely grazed my shoulder, but it might as well have been a brand pressed to my skin.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The words came too fast, too sharp, a blade meant to cut off any further questioning. I forced a brisk nod and pushed to my feet.

"I’m just tired. I’m going to bed.”

Lian hesitated, his lips parting like he wanted to press, but I didn’t give him the chance. I turned on my heel and ducked into my tent, yanking the flap closed behind me as if sealing myself away from the world.

Inside, the darkness swallowed me whole.

I let out a breath, slow and measured, but it did nothing to ease the weight pressing against my ribs. I felt like I’d swallowed a stone, heavy and immovable, settling deep in my gut.

Kerun hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just a kid, full of questions and an appetite for bloodied stories. I didn’t blame him. I blamed myself—for letting it get to me. For being so weak that memories of my breaking still had the power to pull me under. Despicable, sneered a voice in my head. Pitiful, another whispered, a cruel echo of Mother’s voice.

I clenched my jaw and settled onto my bedroll, willing my body to relax. Sleep didn’t come. The fire outside crackled, and beyond it, the sounds of the jungle slithered between the trees. An owl hooted. A branch snapped in the distance. Dom’s snoring rumbled through the camp like a landslide.

I rolled over, tangled myself in my blankets. Rolled over again.

Useless.

With a frustrated breath, I shoved the blankets aside and got up. If I wasn’t going to sleep, I might as well make myself useful. No reason for someone else to sacrifice rest if I was going to be awake anyway.

The fire had burned low, the embers glowing like dying stars. Across the camp, Dom’s snoring carried from his tent, so loud I wondered how Kerun hadn’t smothered him in his sleep. Maybe he was too small to overpower him. Maybe he’d already tried and failed.

Malakai sat by the fire, his sharp violet gaze finding me immediately as I stepped out. He was all quiet intensity, his body relaxed but ready, like he was as much a part of the night as the shadows stretching between the trees.

“Can’t sleep?”

he asked, studying me with something close to curiosity.

I shook my head and dropped onto a log beside him.

"I can take watch,”

I said.

"No point in both of us losing sleep.”

Malakai smiled faintly.

"I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need much sleep.”

Of course, he didn’t. Like the Malditas, then. Another thing to tuck away for later.

Silence stretched between us, the kind that should have been comfortable but wasn’t. Not for me. Not when I could still feel the weight of before pressing against my lungs.

Malakai shifted, clearing his throat.

"Can I ask you something?”

I shrugged.

"Go ahead.”

“What are the other stages of breaking? You said there were five.”

A muscle ticked in my jaw. I could ignore the question. I should. But something about the way he asked, low and measured, made it feel less like morbid curiosity and more like he was bracing for my answer.

I wrapped my arms around myself, staring into the embers.

"The second stage is depriving a person of their sense of safety. They throw you into a maze—full of obstacles designed to maim or kill you. Some of the traps are obvious. Most aren’t.”

Malakai tensed beside me, his shoulders pulling tight.

"And the third?”

“They call it the whiteout,”

I murmured.

"They put you in an all-white room. Dress you in white. Feed you nothing but white food. No sound, no human contact. Nothing but you and your own thoughts.”

My fingers dug into my arms, my nails pressing into the fabric of my sleeves.

"Then they start telling you things. Awful things. That your loved ones have been kidnapped. That they’re being tortured. That they’re dead.”

Malakai winced, shutting his eyes like he could block out the images I painted for him. His brows furrowed deep, his hands curling into fists on his knees. It surprised me—how much it affected him. Like he wasn’t just listening. Like he felt it.

I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The fire crackled between us, but the space felt smaller than it had before. He was so close, I could smell the sharp tang of metal and spearmint on him, could feel the heat rolling off his skin. I wanted to lean away. I didn’t.

Instead, I let the words settle between us, let them sink in.

There were still two more stages left.

But I didn’t think either of us was ready for them yet.

I exhaled slowly, my fingers curling around my arms as if I could hold myself together.

"The fourth stage of breaking is about stripping a person of their self-interest. By that point, most of us had already been shattered three times over, so it was the quickest. They made sure you didn’t care about what happened to yourself anymore. You weren’t a person. You were a tool. Tools don’t have wants, only function.”

I hadn’t realized I was gripping my arms too tightly until Malakai’s eyes flicked down to where my nails dug into the fabric of my sleeves. I forced myself to relax. My throat felt raw when I swallowed.

“The fifth stage,”

I said, voice steady even as something deep in my chest screamed, “is the last and worst. That’s when they take the last thing you love and make you destroy it.”

I felt Malakai’s attention sharpen. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but I could feel him watching me like he was bracing for an impact he couldn’t see coming.

“For some, it was a sibling or a parent. For others, a pet they’d raised since childhood.”

My voice turned flat, distant.

"For me, it was my mentor. The only person who ever gave a damn about me.”

I didn’t say her name. I never said her name.

Malakai inhaled slowly.

"But you did it.”

“I didn’t mean to,”

I said quietly.

That was the worst part, wasn’t it? If I’d done it on purpose, it would’ve been easier to swallow. It wouldn’t have felt like my hands were still bloodied, no matter how much time had passed.

Malakai’s voice was softer now.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

My head snapped up. His expression was unreadable, but his voice—his voice. There was something dangerous in it. Not pity, not exactly. Something else.

I didn’t want to hear it.

“I don’t need your sympathy,”

I bit out.

"Think what you want about the Malditas’ methods, but they made me who I am today.”

I stood, brushing dirt off my pants with more force than necessary.

"I came back stronger. Before Mother sent me off, I was weak. Pathetic. I came back with purpose.”

Malakai cocked his head, his expression carefully neutral.

"And what purpose is that?”

My shoulders squared automatically. The answer came with the ease of repetition.

"To serve Mother. To please her and obey her without question.”

A muscle in Malakai’s jaw ticked. He shook his head, just once. The disapproval was clear in the tight press of his lips.

Shame burned in my chest, hot and ugly. Why did I tell him any of this? Why did I let him see inside me at all? Foolish. Stupid. Weak.

I turned sharply and headed back to my tent, willing my legs not to betray the tremble I felt creeping up my spine.

Behind me, Malakai called out, his voice low and steady.

"There’s more to strength than how many times you can get back up after being beaten down, you know.”

Something in his tone made my breath catch. Damn him.

I hesitated just long enough to glance over my shoulder. The firelight caught the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows across his cheekbones, the violet glow of his eyes flickering like embers in the dark.

“Like what?”

I asked, the words out before I could stop them.

Malakai’s mouth lifted slightly at the corners.

"Like the strength to be vulnerable with someone. To let someone in, even knowing they could gut you for it.”

I scoffed.

"Why the hell would anyone do that?”

He smirked. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just knowing.

"Because it’s the most courageous thing a person can do.”

I flinched before I could stop myself. Courageous. Not ruthless. Not obedient. Not strong. Courageous.

It was ridiculous.

It was infuriating.

It was also the first thing in a long, long time that made me feel truly afraid.

Without another word, I disappeared into my tent and let the dark swallow me whole.

Sleep eventually found me, but it was restless and cruel. My dreams smelled of blood and burning, of voices screaming my name and shadows that reached for me with familiar hands.