Page 13 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

The next morning, the air was thick with moisture, clinging to my skin like a second layer. I woke to the sound of hushed voices, sharp edges of tension lacing every syllable. My body stayed still, but my senses sharpened, listening.

Carefully, I peeled the blanket from my legs, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. I peered through the slit in my tent, scanning the camp.

The world was still gray in the early light, everything draped in the hush of dawn. The cookfire smoldered, sending up thin curls of smoke, and the tents clustered together like frightened children clinging to one another in the dark. The jungle, on the other hand, was waking up—birds calling, leaves rustling, something unseen skittering through the brush.

And near the outermost edge of camp, just out of reach of the dying fire’s glow, Malakai and Dom stood chest to chest, their voices low but thick with anger.

“I can’t do this.”

Dom’s words came out in a ragged whisper, but the snarl beneath them was unmistakable.

"I can’t stand being around her. Did you hear Kerun last night? She’s a bad influence. She has to go.”

My fingers curled into the fabric of my blanket, nails pressing into my palms beneath it. Bad influence. The words shouldn’t have stung, but they did. What had he expected? That I would sit prim and proper, pretend I wasn’t what I was?

Malakai dragged both hands through his silver hair, looking like he wanted to rip it out.

"I’m begging you, Dom. You know what’s at stake here.”

Dom squeezed his eyes shut, face contorted like something was clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach. Like the words burned him.

Malakai didn’t give him a chance to respond before gripping his shoulder, leaning in close. His voice was quieter now, but the intensity in it could have cut through iron.

"I know what I’m asking you to do. I know how much it hurts you. But I promise—it will be worth it.”

I exhaled slowly, watching the way Dom’s muscles trembled, how his hand twitched near the hatchet at his waist. What kind of deal had Malakai made with the Hada in Tiepaz that was worth this?

Whatever it was, it had Malakai begging. And Dom . . . resisting.

Interesting.

I slipped back into my tent before either of them could catch me watching.

Later, when the camp was packed up and we continued the endless trek through Endrina, I worked my way toward Malakai, my rehearsed words rolling over in my head. I needed to be careful. One wrong step, and I’d trip over a root or slip on a moss-covered stone. Nothing undermines a negotiation faster than looking like an idiot.

The jungle was unforgiving. Fallen branches, tangled roots, and slick earth conspired against me. It would have been easier if I were at full strength, but exhaustion pulled at my limbs, my body still too thin, too weak from the months in the dungeon.

No matter. I could do this. I had to do this.

Malakai walked ahead of the group, his stride lazy but sure, like the jungle itself bowed to him. He moved through it with the ease of someone who knew he had no equal.

I pushed forward, ignoring the way my pulse picked up. This was just business. Nothing more.

When I finally closed the distance between us, Malakai turned his head slightly, catching my approach. A slow, knowing smirk curled across his lips as if he had expected me all along.

“Morning, Nightshade,”

he said smoothly, giving me a lazy, exaggerated gesture that mimicked a caballero tipping their hat. The motion was fluid, practiced—an old-world politeness wrapped in mockery.

I should’ve been annoyed, but the familiarity of it—the memory of real caballeros in the red desert, of their dust-coated boots and sun-creased smiles—tugged at something deep inside me. Against my better judgment, the corners of my mouth twitched upward.

“Morning,”

I replied, mirroring the gesture.

He lifted an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my reaction, and I used that opening to press forward.

"I have a proposition for you.”

My voice was measured, cool, betraying nothing.

His smirk didn’t waver.

"I’m listening.”

“Whatever the Hada in Tiepaz are offering you, my mother will double it.”

The smirk vanished.

His jaw clenched so tight I could hear the faint click of his teeth. His eyes, those sharp, predatory violets, darkened as he exhaled a slow, controlled breath.

“Triple it,”

I pushed before he could spit out the refusal already forming on his tongue.

We both knew what I was worth to Mother. She would raze entire cities, melt down the gold in her vault, and sell off whole bloodlines if it meant retrieving her prized weapon. Her Nightshade. Me.

Malakai turned his face toward the sky, like he could erase me from his vision with sheer force of will.

"Danixtl could offer me the entire Rojano treasury, and I still wouldn’t take you back to her,”

he muttered, voice edged in steel.

He finally turned back to face me, his expression unreadable.

"In Tiepaz, you’ll be out of her reach. Untouchable. And she’ll lose her greatest asset. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m being paid to do.”

I folded my arms, forcing my posture to stay loose despite the burn in my chest.

"Why do you care?”

I asked, tilting my head.

"You’re just a mercenary. Like anyone else, you have a price. Name it, and it’s yours.”

Malakai’s lips pressed into a thin line. Something flickered behind his gaze, something dark and personal, but he didn’t let me see it for long.

“I have my reasons,”

he said, the words low, clipped.

Before I could pry further, his gaze dipped—just for a second—before settling back on me with quiet amusement.

“As I’m sure you have your reasons for stealing Lian’s whittling knife.”

His voice dropped a degree.

"And my paring knife.”

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

I kept my face carefully blank, but a single bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck. I had been so careful. So sure he hadn’t seen me take it. But of course, he had. Malakai missed nothing.

Slowly, too slowly, he started toward me.

There was no rush to his steps, no threatening pace—just the kind of lethal, deliberate movement that made my stomach tighten involuntarily. A viper uncoiling, a panther adjusting its stance before the pounce.

“Keep your knives, princess,”

he murmured when he was close enough that the heat from his body mixed with mine. The nickname wasn’t cruel this time, wasn’t mocking—it was something else entirely. Something I didn’t know what to do with.

"If that’s what it takes for you to see the sheer amount of trust I’m giving you.”

His voice was quiet, almost intimate, but there was no mistaking the edge behind it.

“Just don’t stab me in the back with them.”

The way he said it sent an uninvited shiver down my spine.

I lifted my chin, meeting his stare head-on.

"If I’m in a position where I have to defend myself, then I’ll do what I must.”

Something flickered in his gaze, approval and warning in equal measure. He gave me a slow, measured nod.

“I would expect nothing less.”

Then, as if he hadn’t just rattled something loose inside me, he turned and walked ahead, resuming his effortless command of the jungle.

I let out a quiet breath and resisted the urge to press my hand against my chest, where both my marca and the stolen knife burned against my skin.

An uneasy silence stretched between us like a tripwire, ready to snap at the slightest misstep. Half a mile of nothing but the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of unseen creatures. It was unbearable.

I needed noise. I needed answers.

“So, what’s your deal?”

I blurted, shattering the quiet.

The sudden sound startled a nearby quetzal from its perch. The bird let out a piercing squawk, its emerald wings flaring wide in irritation before it shot off into the dense canopy.

Malakai barely flinched, but his violet eyes slid to mine, sharp and searching. “Meaning?”

I exhaled, already feeling the heat of his deflection before he even tried it.

“You’re not telling me everything,”

I said, adjusting the weight of my pack against my shoulders.

"Who are you really? What kind of mercenary turns down tenos? What’s with the story of you taking in Lian? I’m assuming Elías and Kerun are also strays you picked up along the way.”

Something dangerous flickered across his face.

"I may be a mercenary, but my crew and I have a code,”

he said, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet.

"They’re not strays. They’re my family. And you’d do well to remember that.”

His words landed like a slap, and my fingers curled into my palms to stop myself from lashing out. Family. What a nice, simple concept. So different from the one I’d grown up with.

I dragged in a breath through my nose, forcing the bitter taste off my tongue. Fine. If he wanted to be cryptic, I’d take another angle.

“What do the Hada in Tiepaz want with me?”

I asked, watching him closely.

His shrug was nonchalant.

"They didn’t say.”

I stopped walking.

"You’re lying.”

His steps slowed, then stopped, and when he turned to face me, the smirk on his lips was all smug amusement.

“You cut me deep, love.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning mortal injury.

"Though I would think the answer is obvious. They want to remove you from the game.”

A slow, acidic churn rolled through my stomach. “Explain,”

I said through clenched teeth.

Malakai held my gaze, his expression unreadable.

"The Hada of Tiepaz have more important things to deal with than human wars. But if those wars get in the way of their own plans . . .”

He left the rest unsaid.

But I understood.

I was nothing more than a weapon. A piece on the board. A threat that needed to be neutralized—not killed, just hidden. Mothballed. Dismantled. Shelved so that Mother couldn’t use me to tip the scales in her favor.

There was no morality behind it. No sentimentality. No grand scheme beyond balancing the playing field.

A sword was only valuable when it was sharp and wielded by the right hands. Otherwise, it was just a hunk of metal gathering dust.

The words pressed into me, sinking deep into the marrow of my bones.

I had spent my whole life being sharpened, being honed into something deadly. And for what? So that when I was finally deemed too dangerous, too unpredictable, I could be locked away like a cursed relic?

I swallowed against the burn in my throat and let my feet slow, letting Malakai’s long stride carry him ahead. I needed distance. Space to breathe.

But as I fell back into the shadows of the jungle, a terrible thought clawed its way up from the dark corners of my mind.

If I was nothing more than a tool, a weapon meant to be wielded . . . then what was I without a wielder?

The rest of the day blurred into the same exhausting, repetitive cycle.

More hiking.

More of Dom’s burning glares, like he was willing me out of existence.

More tripping over roots, rocks, and every damned thing the jungle decided to throw in my path.

Every step was another brutal reminder that I was not in fighting shape.

I needed to be stronger. Faster. My body screamed with every mile, and it only cemented the bitter truth: I wasn’t running yet. Not today.

Malakai finally called for a stop when the sun began its slow descent into the horizon, painting the sky in violent streaks of orange and soft smears of lavender.

He lifted a hand toward a jagged ridge of rocks ahead, their gaping cave mouths stacked like rows of shark teeth.

“We’ll spend the night here,”

he said.

"Easier to set watch inside than out in the open.”

I swallowed the groan clawing up my throat and let my pack drop from my aching shoulders, wincing as every stiff muscle protested.

My body was furious with me.

I was furious with my body. I needed it to be strong, and it was failing me.

I unscrewed my canteen with stiff fingers, drinking deeply, letting the cool water soothe the raw dryness in my throat.

My head pounded, an ache buried deep in my skull like someone had wedged a dull knife between my temples.

Even my bones felt bruised, like they had been scraped down to nothing but splinters and dust.

I pressed my fingers against my forehead, massaging in slow, steady circles, trying to ease the tension wrapped around my skull like iron chains.

A shadow loomed nearby.

“You good, Nightshade?”

Malakai’s voice was low, unreadable.

I didn’t lift my head. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how miserable I was. “Peachy,”

I muttered, shifting my fingers lower to press at the base of my skull.

"Just basking in the joy of feeling like I got trampled by a herd of wild alpaztli.”

Malakai snorted softly.

"You’ll get used to it.”

I cracked an eye open, meeting his gaze.

"If I live that long.”

His violet eyes flickered, a smirk tugging at his lips like he wanted to say something smug but thought better of it. “Come on,”

he said instead, jerking his chin toward the caves.

"You need rest.”

I wanted to argue, to snarl something back about how I wasn’t fragile, but the exhaustion in my limbs betrayed me. I let out a slow breath, gripping my pack and pushing myself to my feet with an effort that felt embarrassingly monumental. I followed him toward the caves, the weight of the day pressing on me like a hundred unseen hands dragging me down.

I’d get stronger. I had to. Because right now, I was too damn weak to do anything but survive.

The crunch of boots against the dirt signaled Dom and Elías returning, their arms laden with kindling. Dom muttered something to Kerun, his voice thick with irritation. Whatever it was, Kerun grumbled back, earning himself a withering glare. With another growl of distaste, Dom jerked his chin toward the rocks, and Kerun, dragging his feet like a sullen child, heaved himself up to help, trailing after them with reluctant steps.

I barely registered any of it. My head throbbed with each pulse of blood behind my temples, and the thought of climbing the cliffs to get to the cave made my stomach churn. The exhaustion clung to my bones, a weight I couldn’t shake. I exhaled, pressing my fingers to my forehead, willing the pain to ease.

Then something touched my shoulder.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up. White-hot fire licked through my chest as terror surged like a viper striking deep in my gut. I ripped away from the contact, twisting violently as my fingers locked around the offending limb.

It wasn’t something.

It was someone.

The moment stretched and slowed, as if the air had thickened into sap, dragging reality into an agonizing crawl.

Lian’s knees hit the dirt with a sharp thud, his wrist bent back at an unnatural angle, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. His blue eyes widened in shock, then pain.

Somewhere beyond the ringing in my ears, a metallic snap sliced through the night—the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

My head snapped toward Dom, my breath catching in my throat.

He had the barrel trained on my heart. His hands didn’t shake. His aim didn’t waver. His hazel eyes burned with a rage so deep it was almost feral.

Then I heard it.

Lian’s ragged breathing. The small, broken sound he made, like a wounded animal. His face twisted in agony.

What am I doing?

Why am I doing this?

What the hell is wrong with me?

The gun went off.

Everything exploded at once.

Malakai moved before I could react, a blur of motion and crackling energy. He flicked his wrist, and the bullet veered sharply off course, slicing past my shoulder instead of tearing through my chest. Pain lanced through my arm, but it barely registered beneath the horror slamming into me like a tidal wave.

I let go of Lian like he’d burned me and staggered back, hands up, throat dry.

"I—I’m sorry!”

The words tumbled from my lips before I could even think them, shame burning across my skin like an open flame.

Lian cradled his wrist, his breaths coming too fast, his eyes—those kind, knowing eyes—staring at me like I was something monstrous.

Time shattered back into motion.

Malakai stormed forward, ripping the gun from Dom’s grip with a flick of his power. He dropped to his knee beside Lian, his expression unreadable as he inspected the damage.

Elías and Kerun came barreling into the clearing, weapons drawn, eyes darting wildly to assess the chaos.

Dom’s nostrils flared. His chest rose and fell in deep, heaving breaths. He looked at Lian, at me, at the blood staining my sleeve. And then something inside him snapped.

He pounded his fists against his chest like a war drum, and a guttural, inhuman growl ripped from his throat. Before I could move—before I could even think—he was charging.

I stumbled back, my heel catching on a root. My spine slammed into the rough bark of a tree, trapping me. My marca burned, heat licking up my throat like a warning, but it wasn’t enough.

Dom was too fast.

Too strong.

His hands locked around my throat, crushing, unyielding.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

he snarled, his breath hot against my face, his fury a living, breathing thing.

My fingers clawed at his wrists, panic surging like ice in my veins. I kicked, struggled, tried to pry his grip loose, but it was like trying to break iron bars. My vision blurred at the edges, my lungs screaming for air.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.

Dom bared his teeth, his lips peeling back in a grimace of pure, unfiltered disgust.

"We should’ve left you behind when we had the chance.”

My marca flared hotter, a pulse of molten fire curling deep in my gut.

Survival instinct.

I could give in to it. Let the magic consume me. Burn him.

Or I could die.

My body tensed, my mind screaming at me to choose.

Choose.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Malakai storming toward us, his expression a mixture of fury and something else—something dangerously close to fear.

That, more than anything, rattled me.

Malakai didn’t scare easily. But right now, there was a flicker of it in his violet eyes, just before he wrenched Dom’s hands from my throat with a force that sent them both staggering.

“Get a hold of yourself!”

Malakai barked, his voice sharp enough to cut.

Dom snarled, his breath ragged as he shoved Malakai away, pacing like a caged animal.

"I can’t believe you’re defending her!”

“We’ve already been paid,”

Malakai shot back, stepping into Dom’s path, forcing the man to look at him instead of at me.

"You. Can’t. Kill. Her.”

I pressed my hand against my throat, feeling the bruises blooming beneath my skin. My breath still came too fast, too uneven, my pulse hammering against my ribs like a war drum. But it wasn’t from Dom’s hands around my throat.

It was from what I’d almost done.

My fingers curled into my palms as I fought to steady myself. I hadn’t meant to hurt Lian. Sweet, kind Lian, who had only ever looked at me with something close to trust. I hadn’t even recognized what was happening until it was too late, until the sharp crack of bone and his cry of pain had snapped me back into myself.

And that was the most terrifying part.

I hadn’t been in control.

I thought I had buried the worst parts of myself—the instincts Mother had carved into my bones, the violence that was as natural to me as breathing. But the moment I’d been startled, the moment I had felt even a whisper of danger, my body had reacted. Not just with precision, but with intent. The monster inside me wasn’t dormant. It had only been waiting.

I could still feel it now, coiled in my gut like a serpent, waiting for the next excuse to strike.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet Lian’s gaze. He sat on the ground, cradling his wrist, his face tight with pain. But worse than the pain was the wariness in his expression. The hesitation.

He didn’t look at me like he had before.

My stomach twisted.

Dom wasn’t wrong to react the way he had. I could see it in the way the others hovered nearby, pretending not to watch but keeping me in their periphery all the same. A threat to be monitored. A beast on a leash.

They were afraid of me.

And they should be.

I held up my hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender. My voice was quieter than I wanted it to be.

"I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Dom’s nostrils flared.

"It better not,”

he said, voice thick with warning. His jaw clenched so tightly I could hear the grind of his teeth before he turned and stormed off toward the caves, shoulders rigid with anger.

The space he left behind felt suffocating.

Malakai’s gaze lingered on me, wary, as if waiting to see if I’d snap again. His usual teasing smirk was gone, replaced with something unreadable.

“Maybe you should stay out here for a while,”

he said after a moment, his voice almost gentle.

"Let everyone cool down.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was a warning.

I nodded, even though the weight of those words pressed against me like a brand. I knew what he really meant. I had already been on the outside looking in—but now, the line between us was thicker. More defined.

I wasn’t part of them.

I was something they tolerated.

Malakai lingered for a moment longer, as if he might say something else, but then he turned and followed the others up the crags, disappearing into the dark mouth of the cave.

I exhaled, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. My throat ached, and not just from where Dom’s hands had been.

I was used to being feared. Mother had made sure of that. But I hadn’t realized—hadn’t let myself realize—how much I’d liked the way they had looked at me before.

I had never cared what people thought of me.

I had never cared about being liked.

But as I sat there, alone beneath the bruised sky, I hated the thought of returning to the cave and seeing the same wariness in all their eyes.

Hated the truth of what I was.

When the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, I finally pulled my pack onto my shoulders and climbed toward the cave. I had no choice but to go back.

But I knew, deep down, that something had shifted.

And that I could never take it back.

The fire simmered low in the cavern’s center, its golden glow flickering over the faces of Malakai’s crew. Laughter rolled off them in quiet waves, warm and easy—too easy. Too normal. It grated against my raw nerves like sandpaper. As if nothing had happened. As if everything hadn’t changed completely.

Malakai sat at the heart of it all, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his silver hair catching the firelight as he turned his head. His laughter faded as his sharp violet gaze flicked toward the entrance—toward me.

And then, like a candle snuffed out by a sharp wind, the whole cave went silent.

Dom tensed where he sat, his jaw locked, fingers curled into fists. Elías averted his gaze, suddenly fascinated with his boots. Kerun nudged a stray ember with a stick, his lips pursed like he was biting back a question he knew he shouldn’t ask. Lian, sitting cross-legged by the fire, shifted uneasily.

They didn’t trust me.

They feared me.

They had every right to.

I clenched my teeth against the knot tightening in my throat. I refused to let them see me falter. Refused to let them see the way their wary glances scraped against me like knives.

Without a word, I strode past them, my spine rigid, my hands tight at my sides. I forced myself not to meet Malakai’s eyes as I crossed the cavern. I could feel him watching, could feel the weight of his scrutiny pressing against my back like a brand.

My bedroll unfurled with a snap as I tossed it to the ground in the farthest, darkest corner of the cave. Somewhere out of their line of sight. Somewhere I wouldn’t have to endure their stares burning into my skin.

I sank onto the thin fabric, dragging my knees to my chest. My hands trembled, so I curled them into fists, digging my nails into my palms until they left tiny crescent moons. I had to get a grip. I had to—

A soft shuffle of boots against stone.

I stiffened.

Lian.

He stood just outside my self-imposed exile, silhouetted against the fire’s glow. In his hands, he held a bowl of steaming broth, bits of meat and vegetables swirling in the golden liquid. His fingers twitched slightly around the rim.

I didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see what I knew would be there.

Fear.

Not much, not overt. But enough.

Enough to make my stomach curdle.

Lian had been the only one to treat me like a person. And now, after what I’d done, even that was tainted.

“Here,”

he said, his voice gentle, too careful as he extended the bowl toward me.

I hesitated before reaching for it. I expected him to flinch, to jerk back at the last second. He didn’t. But there was a sliver of tension in the way he held himself, the kind that hadn’t been there before.

I cleared my throat, muttered a quiet, “Thanks,”

and kept my eyes fixed on the floor.

Lian shifted on his feet. Scratched the back of his head. Let out a small, nervous chuckle.

"I, uh . . . I didn’t mean to startle you earlier.”

My grip on the bowl tightened. Don’t say it. Don’t apologize. Don’t—

“I’m sorry,”

he said, and I heard the way his voice softened, like he actually meant what he was saying. But he shouldn’t. I didn’t deserve that from him.

I shook my head, gaze still glued on the stone floor. “No,”

I murmured, barely loud enough to be heard.

"I’m sorry.”

The words tasted foreign on my tongue. Bitter. Not because I didn’t mean them, but because I meant them so very much. Probably more than I’d ever meant them before.

"I don’t know what came over me.”

Lian was quiet for a long moment before nudging me playfully with his boot.

"Hey. I’m fine. Trust me.”

He forced a laugh, and it scraped against me like a dull blade.

"All of them have done worse to me during training. I’m okay.”

It should’ve reassured me.

It didn’t.

Because despite the kindness in his voice, despite the way he stood there, still offering his warmth, his presence, his ridiculous little smiles—I knew.

I had scared him.

And that was something I could never take back.

I hated that more than I hated Dom’s glares. More than I hated the bruises forming on my neck or the ache in my shoulder from the bullet that had grazed me.

I had cracked something between us.

And no matter how much I wanted to pretend otherwise, I wasn’t sure I could ever fix it.

Lian saw fit to further take pity on me—also something I didn’t deserve, and brought his food over to sit next to me. And we just sat there in silence.

Silence had always been my weapon. A tool I wielded to my advantage. But now? Now, I wanted words to fill the space between us. Wanted to pry the ones lodged deep in my throat free. Wanted not to be this weak.

When I didn’t think I could take it any longer, Lian nudged me and jerked his chin in the direction of the fire, an amused look on his face.

Next to it, Elías was in the middle of some kind of lesson with Kerun. He held up a red flower, its little knife-like petals fanned out in delicate precision. The flames flickered across his face, making his features look sharper, more focused, like a scholar on the brink of some grand discovery.

“The flowers of the coral tree can be used as a sedative,”

Elías said, his voice full of awe, as if he had just unearthed some hidden truth of the universe.

"You can boil the petals into a tea. But if you see a nut growing in the center, don’t touch it. It’ll give you hallucinations before killing you.”

Kerun let out a noncommittal grunt.

Elías shot him a glare.

"Are you even listening?”

The younger boy exhaled heavily, rolling his eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t fall out of his head.

"Yes. Red flower. Good,”

he replied in a flat, exaggerated monotone.

Elías pressed his fingers against his temple and let out an exasperated breath.

"What a waste of time.”

I watched with mild amusement as Kerun mimicked Elías behind his back, contorting his face into an exaggerated look of mock concentration. It was childish, but there was something so unguarded about it, so normal, that it made my chest ache.

He reminded me of myself.

Before the Malditas. Before I had been broken down and put back together in a form more palatable to Mother’s liking. My mentor had tried, once upon a time, to teach me things like court politics, social maneuvering, the subtle games of power the nobles played with smiles sharp enough to cut. I had dismissed it all as tedious nonsense, rolling my eyes the same way Kerun did now, thinking myself above it.

I had been a fool.

When they sent me away, I had begged for those lessons instead of the ones I received. Instead of whispers in my ear telling me that my pain was a gift. That suffering was a crucible, and only the strong would survive it. That love was just another weapon to be wielded.

The stew in my mouth suddenly felt thick, like paste in my throat.

A presence at my side made me stiffen before I even saw him.

Malakai.

He plopped down next to me with the ease of someone who thought he belonged there, legs stretched out, arms resting over his knees. But I didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered over me, assessing. Concerned.

I hated it.

Before he could speak, I cut him off.

"If you’ve come to scold me for earlier, don’t bother. I feel bad enough already,”

I muttered, staring down at my bowl.

“Why would I scold you?”

His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful.

Because Mother would.

Because failure wasn’t tolerated. Because I should have had better control. Because I should have never let anyone see me slip.

I looked up at him then, my frown deepening, expecting to find judgment in those violet eyes, disappointment, disgust.

Instead, I found curiosity. A question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

And something else—something I couldn’t quite name.

My pulse skittered against my ribs, and I ripped my gaze away, tightening my grip on the bowl in my hands.

Malakai didn’t press. He didn’t demand explanations. He just sat there, waiting.

And somehow, that was worse.

When I didn’t respond, Malakai inhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line. His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee, like he was holding back from reaching out.

"I just stopped by to see how you’re doing,”

he said finally.

"How are you holding up with the hike? Do you need anything?”

I frowned.

"Need anything?”

He nodded.

"A fresh pair of socks, perhaps? A change of clothes? A hobby to pass the time before sleep?”

I blinked at him. A hobby?

My mind came up blank.

It was a ridiculous question. A ridiculous concept. I had never really had time for such things. I wasn’t allowed time for such things. Mother had seen no value in idleness, in anything that wasn’t sharpening me into something useful. A blade didn’t need hobbies.

Once, when I was ten, before Mother sent me away, I had taken an interest in collecting sandstones. The desert was full of them, scattered like lost jewels beneath the sun, smooth and warm to the touch. I had gathered them in secret, hoarding them like treasure, each one a different shade—crimson, amber, violet, gold. They felt like mine in a way nothing else ever had.

One day, I had brought them to Mother, holding them out in my small hands, proud. She had taken them without a word, studied them as if she were trying to determine their worth.

That evening, I found them tossed into the waste bin outside her chamber, buried beneath torn letters and broken wax seals.

I never collected sandstones again.

“I’m good with a sword,”

I said instead, my voice sharper than I intended. A distraction. A deflection. But I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth, especially when Malakai’s expression darkened ever so slightly, that faint tension returning to his shoulders.

“Though I assume that’s out of the question,”

I added, trying to cover for myself.

Malakai gave a humorless chuckle.

"You have your knives. Let that be enough.”

I twisted my fingers in my lap, picking at a callus on my thumb. He was being careful with me now. Like a horse that had been broken too many times, too skittish to trust the hand that held its reins.

“You’re a princess,”

he said after a pause.

"Surely you did more than just train?”

I said nothing.

Malakai exhaled, long and slow. “I see.”

He didn’t see anything. No one did.

Silence stretched between us, thick as the jungle heat. I should have let it hang there, should have let the conversation die, but instead, I found myself whispering, “I like music.”

His head tilted slightly, his gaze sharpening with interest.

"Really? What do you play?”

I shook my head.

"I don’t play an instrument.”

I hesitated, the words tasting foreign in my mouth.

"Sometimes . . . when Mother was away from the palace, I’d sneak off to the capital’s theater and watch the singers perform.”

His lips quirked.

"Do you sing?”

I stiffened.

"Not well.”

“Will you sing for me?”

The question caught me off guard, as did the slow, playful smile that stretched across his lips. There was something dangerous in it—something that made my stomach tighten and my breath catch in my throat.

I turned my face away before he could see the warmth creeping up my neck.

"No. I’m not very good,”

I murmured.

Malakai chuckled, deep and rich.

"Well, you can’t be any worse than Elías.”

I followed his gaze toward the fire, where Elías was currently butchering a perfectly good ballad, his voice careening wildly between octaves. Lian sat beside him, watching like he was listening to the voice of a quetzal rather than the enthusiastic but off-key warbling of a mercenary with more confidence than talent.

I huffed a quiet laugh before I could stop myself.

Malakai was still watching me, his expression softer than before. Less guarded.

“Maybe one day,”

he said, his voice quieter now.

"Maybe one day, you’ll sing for me.”

I kept my eyes on the fire, pretending I hadn’t heard him.

Curiosity gnawed at me, an itch I couldn’t ignore. I flicked my gaze toward Lian, who was watching Elías like he had strung the stars himself, his soft, boyish face all but radiating longing. If the idiot sang any worse, the jungle itself might rise up and put him out of his misery, but Lian was looking at him like he was hearing the goddesses themselves.

I arched a brow.

"What’s the deal with those two?”

I asked, jerking my chin toward them.

Malakai let out a short laugh and ran a hand through his already messy silver hair, sending the strands into further disarray. He didn’t answer right away, just shook his head like the topic alone exhausted him.

“Oh, that’s a drama I will not involve myself in,”

he said finally.

"You’d be wise to stay out of it, too.”

That only made me more intrigued.

I cast another glance at them. Lian, hanging on to every wretched note Elías sang like it was spun gold. Elías, utterly oblivious, tossed an arm around Lian’s shoulder and pulled him into the song like they were drunk and celebrating after a war. Lian’s face flushed as red as the embers at his feet, his entire body stiff for all of two seconds before melting into it.

I scoffed. Hopeless.

“They ever—?”

Malakai gave me a sharp, warning look, and I shut my mouth, pressing my lips together to stifle my smirk.

I leaned in just a fraction, lowering my voice.

"So that’s a yes, then.”

“That is none of your damn business,”

Malakai muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I hummed.

"Not yet, then.”

“Nix.”

His tone was a clear warning.

I threw my hands up, feigning innocence.

"Fine, fine. I’ll leave it alone.”

Malakai sighed as if I were personally exhausting him, but there was amusement behind his frustration. His lips twitched, betraying the barest hint of a smile.

Still, I caught the slight shift in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticked. He cared about them, about whatever tangled mess they were in, even if he pretended otherwise.

I let it go—for now. But later?

Later, I’d be pestering Elías.

I may not have ever had a hobby, but I’d always had a knack for observation, and there was nothing subtle about the feelings those two idiots had for each other.

They were the last two to know, which made it all the worse.