Page 16 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

Over the next couple of months, I found myself falling into a strange sort of rhythm—one I hadn’t expected, one I didn’t know if I should entirely trust or even deserved.

Each evening, after the grueling hours of hiking and enduring Dom’s ever-present scowl, Lian would sit next to me by the fire, pulling out his carving knife and a fresh piece of wood. At first, I only watched. The steady scrape of metal against wood, the curls of shavings piling up in his lap—it was mesmerizing. A kind of patience I’d never been allowed to cultivate.

Then, one night, he handed me a spare knife. My own knife. One I didn’t have to steal. One that was given to me with trust.

“Figured you might as well use it for something productive,”

he had said, his blue eyes dancing with amusement.

I’d felt a twinge of guilt as I handed back his ebony blade, but Lian had accepted it without so much as a reprimand. When I revealed the second knife I’d taken from him, expecting at least a grumble, he only chuckled and told me to keep it.

“For carving,”

he had said, pressing it back into my palm.

"Not stabbing.”

I found myself looking forward to those quiet moments at the end of each day, when destruction wasn’t expected of me. When I could create something with my hands instead of breaking, slicing, or killing. It felt . . . foreign. Like trying on someone else’s skin.

But during the day, I kept my distance from the group.

It wasn’t just that I was slower than them, though that much was obvious. My legs ached constantly, my muscles still screaming in protest from the endless days of travel. But the true reason I stayed behind was Dom.

I could always feel his eyes on me. The weight of his hatred, the heat of my marca flaring whenever he got too close.

Even in the darkness of night, when we made camp and I should have been too tired to notice, I could feel his stare like a blade poised at my back. I didn’t know what he was waiting for—some confirmation of my wickedness, perhaps. Some excuse to strike. I didn’t know what I would say to him even if I tried. I didn’t even know if I should.

Malakai, ever the meddler, was the only thing keeping Dom’s fury at bay. I often caught his violet gaze lingering on me, watching with that same unreadable expression. Was he merely keeping an eye on his investment? Ensuring I didn’t make a run for it?

Or was there something else in those glances?

The thought was foolish. Ridiculous.

I scolded myself every time my mind wandered in that direction. He was Hada. He had no reason to see me as anything more than a job. A bounty to cash in. And yet . . .

Yet I could still feel the warmth of his fingers grazing my chin the night he hunted the cuegle. The way he had looked at me, as if he were trying to see past everything I had been made into. As if he were searching for something else inside me.

“Do I scare you, or is it something worse?”

“Something worse.”

I forced the memory away. There was no use dwelling on such things.

On the bright side, at least Elías had started warming up to me again.

Granted, the only reason he lingered back more often was because of Lian, his attention drawn to the quiet, knife-wielding man with an ease that made me want to laugh. But I didn’t mind the company.

The more time I spent around Elías, the more he pulled me into his world of plants and remedies.

Foraging was something I had a passing knowledge of—basic herbs, poultices, the kind of things you learned when you spent years patching yourself up instead of being allowed proper healing. But Elías was eager to teach me more.

“It’s not all about healing,”

he explained one evening as he handed me a bundle of leaves to sort through.

"Some of these are poisonous. Some make you sleep. Some will make you hallucinate so badly you’ll throw yourself off a cliff.”

I arched a brow.

"Useful information.”

He grinned.

"You never know when you’ll need it.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

Learning how to wield something other than a blade felt . . . good. Not that I’d admit that out loud.

Not yet, anyway.

We’d paused the hike for the day to forage. Elías’s supplies were running low, and keeping the Curador’s cache stocked was a priority.

I didn’t mind the break. More than that, I welcomed the chance to learn. In the past few months, I’d picked up a lot from the eclectic healer, and I was always hungry for more.

I was reaching for another plant, fingers grazing the waxy red petals and the large nut nestled at its center, when a sharp smack sent it flying from my grasp.

“Not that one!”

Elías shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

I blinked, my hand still frozen midair, as the flower tumbled onto the damp jungle floor.

“That’s a coral flower,”

he huffed, running a hand through his curls, his face a shade paler than before.

"The nut at the center can kill you.”

A hot flare of irritation burned in my chest. The way he’d chastised me—like a reckless child who needed to be scolded—rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn’t stupid. I knew better than to eat something before confirming it was safe.

Then I caught the way Elías’s face drained of color, the way his shoulders tensed, his entire body bracing as if expecting some kind of retaliation. My stomach turned.

He was scared of me.

Still.

I swallowed, forcing the heat in my chest to die down, reining in the sharp words that threatened to escape. Control yourself.

Taking a slow, measured breath, I offered him a small, deliberate smile.

"Nice save.”

My voice was softer this time, the edges no longer lined with steel.

"You have fast reflexes.”

Elías stared at me, wary, as if expecting the praise to be a trick. Then, seeming to realize I wasn’t angry, he let out a nervous chuckle and held up his hands in surrender.

"I’m sorry, I—”

I placed a hand on his arm before he could finish.

"Please don’t do that.”

My fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his tunic.

"You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His brows lifted in surprise, but I meant it. He was taking the time to teach me survival skills, and I wasn’t going to throw that back in his face just because my pride had been stung.

I released his arm and inclined my head in gratitude.

"You were looking out for me. Thank you.”

Elías let out a breath, relief softening the tension in his frame. Then, as if deciding the moment had gone on long enough, he straightened and smirked.

"Well, if you want to repay me, you can always let me teach you how to dance. I bet you’re all kinds of stiff.”

I scowled. That offer sounded like another desperate and ill-conceived ploy to get Lian to notice him.

“I’d rather risk the poison flower.”

Elías barked a laugh before launching into a filthy song about a pair of forbidden lovers and a very unfortunate incident involving a haystack. His voice was off-key, and his gestures were unnecessarily dramatic, but something about the ridiculousness of it all wormed its way under my ribs.

By the time he reached the final verse, I was laughing so hard my ribs ached and tears streamed down my cheeks.

It was the first time I had truly laughed in a very, very long time.

With Elías stocked up, we resumed our endless hike the next day.

I could have done with a longer break, but the sooner we were out of Endrina, the better.

The deeper we traveled into Endrina, the more the jungle seemed to change around us—more twisted, more alive, as if watching.

The trees seemed to stretch taller, their trunks thickening into ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky.

Leaves, dense and shaggy like moss-covered fur, swayed gently in the thick air, casting dappled shadows over the forest floor.

By midday, sweat clung to my skin like a second layer, and the air grew heavy, thick with the promise of rain.

Storm clouds gathered at the edges of the horizon, though the sun still blazed overhead, a molten weight pressing down on my shoulders.

I pulled out a sack of berries I’d picked with Elías earlier, washing them with the last sip from my waterskin before tossing a handful into my mouth.

Elías, as usual, was content to pass the time pointing out different species of plant life, his voice lilting with enthusiasm as he explained the medicinal properties of everything from fungi to vines.

I listened intently, nodding in acknowledgment as he rattled off their uses.

I was used to quick briefings before missions—lists of potential threats, points of entry, escape routes.

At least this was knowledge that might actually help me survive.

The day wore on without interruption from any cursed creatures or unnatural horrors, but my legs grew heavier with each step, my calves burning, blisters forming at my heels. I clenched my jaw, determined not to fall behind again, not to be the weakest link.

Malakai drifted toward me, his sharp gaze assessing before he extended a hand. “Here,”

he offered, his voice even.

I stiffened.

"I don’t need help.”

His brows lifted, not in surprise, but in the slow, careful way someone checked the weight of a blade.

"Do you have a problem with me?”

I did. But not in the way he meant.

I wasn’t sure how to categorize Malakai in my mind. He’d taken down the cuegle—alone—and had returned with nothing but a scratch on his hand. I wasn’t sure if that made him incredibly skilled or terrifying. Perhaps both.

And he was temporary. Just a man fulfilling his end of a contract.

That should have made all of this easier.

It didn’t.

Something inside me twisted every time I caught him looking. Not in assessment. Not calculating his next move. Just looking. As if I were a puzzle he wanted to memorize.

But that was foolish. Men like him didn’t look at washed up failures like me.

I convinced myself that I’d gone soft. My skills at reading people didn’t apply to immortal Hada men with striking violet eyes, silver hair like starlight, and easy smiles.

Instead of admitting any of this, I deflected.

"No. I just want to do it myself.”

He let out a dry, quiet laugh.

"So, you’re allowed to bandage me up and make sure I don’t bleed out, but I’m not allowed to offer you a hand?”

I huffed as I shoved past a low-hanging branch, brushing off the leaves that clung to my sleeves.

"I’ll never get strong if you baby me,”

I muttered, my words sharper than I intended.

A flicker of something crossed his face, something unreadable, and my stomach twisted at the thought that I’d hurt him. Before I could decide whether to say anything, I added, “I’m fine. I promise.”

He pushed a strand of silver hair from his face, tucking it behind his pointed ear.

"Is there anything you need?”

I missed my next step and lurched forward, my fingers instinctively catching onto the nearest thing—Malakai.

My palm landed on his bicep, and I felt him. Not just the heat of his skin through his linen shirt, but the sheer power beneath it, the corded strength coiled and ready beneath my touch. His arm was solid, warm, and I realized—too late—that I had been holding on a beat too long.

When I looked up, Malakai was already watching me, amusement flickering behind his violet eyes.

I dropped my hand as if burned. “Sorry,”

I muttered, my ears hot.

His smirk was barely restrained, but he said nothing.

Scrambling for something—anything—to fill the silence, I added, “A bath would be nice, but since we haven’t camped near a cave in a few days, I’m guessing that’s not happening anytime soon.”

Malakai’s expression shifted, his gaze lingering on me for a fraction longer than necessary before he nodded and turned back to the front of the group.

When it was a few hours before sunset, Malakai gathered everyone together, his expression sharp and unreadable.

“We’re moving ahead for a little longer,”

he announced, his gaze sweeping across the group.

"Keep your eyes and ears open.”

Dom, of course, was the first to object.

"It’s almost sunset,”

he growled.

"We should be making camp now while we still have light.”

Malakai didn’t look at him. He looked at me.

“I thought we could stop in a cave for the night,”

he said, his voice measured, “and let anyone who wants to clean up do so.”

Dom grunted, clearly displeased, but didn’t argue further.

I swallowed.

Malakai had heard me earlier. He’d taken my offhand comment and shifted the group’s course because of it.

A warmth that had nothing to do with the humid jungle air bloomed in my chest.

I didn’t dwell on it, didn’t let myself think about what it meant.

Instead, I merely adjusted my pack and followed the rest of the group.

When we found a cave large enough to house all six of us, my pride finally crumbled beneath the weight of exhaustion. I limped inside with one arm slung over Lian’s shoulder, every step a reminder of just how much my body had deteriorated in that dungeon. I hated relying on him, hated the pity I caught flickering in his soft blue eyes, but the truth was undeniable—I was too tired to care.

The others moved swiftly, setting up camp, unrolling bedrolls, and building a fire to chase away the damp chill. I sank onto my makeshift bed, stretching my legs out in front of me. My muscles throbbed in protest, my lower back aching from days of relentless hiking. The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows along the cave walls, and I felt the creeping temptation to close my eyes and simply rest.

Damn the bath. I wasn’t getting up ever again. I’d die here, and that was just fine by me.

But, of course, peace never lasted long.

A shadow loomed over me, and I barely had time to sigh before Elías plopped down beside me, a wide grin stretched across his face, notebook in hand. His red curls bobbed as he flipped through the pages with unrestrained excitement.

“Elías,”

I groaned, tilting my head to give him a wary look.

"What are you up to?”

“Shh, just look.”

He turned the notebook toward me, revealing a series of detailed sketches—jackets, pants, dresses, even a few extravagant capes that had no business being in a jungle. Then, with a flourish, he flipped to a fresh page, and my stomach dropped.

There I was, me, sketched in careful lines and strokes. He’d drawn me with my arms crossed, my weight cocked to one side, my expression sharp and unimpressed. The detail was startling—my hair braided over my shoulder, the slight slouch of my borrowed bolero, the pants that hung too loose around my hips.

Elías jabbed a finger at the sketch, his voice brimming with self-satisfaction.

"I’ve been saying it since day one—this bolero doesn’t fit you properly. The waist needs to be taken in, here—”

He motioned toward my midsection, then waved a hand toward my back.

"And through the shoulder blades. You look ridiculous wearing it like that.”

I blinked at him. Was he seriously critiquing my attire in the middle of a jungle?

Undeterred by my silence, Elías continued.

"And the pants—obviously, they need to be hemmed. I’m thinking a slimmer cut so they actually fit your shape. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve been walking around like this.”

I frowned at the sketch. Nice idea and all, but unless he had a tailor hidden in his pack, I wasn’t sure how he planned to make this happen.

"And how exactly are you going to make these alterations?”

I asked, arching a skeptical brow.

Elías beamed, clearly waiting for me to ask.

"Malakai, of course.”

I stiffened. “Malakai?”

“He’ll do the sewing,”

Elías explained, far too pleased with himself.

"With his Hada magic. I just mark where I want the adjustments, and he makes it happen. Simple.”

Simple. Right.

Before I could object, Elías pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and waved a hand at me impatiently.

"Come on, stand up. I need to mark everything.”

I groaned but obeyed, too tired to argue. He crouched and began unfolding the cuffs of my pants, marking where the hem should fall. His fingers worked swiftly, brushing against my calves as he measured and muttered to himself. When he stood, he tugged at the fabric of my bolero, pinching and adjusting, his mouth pursed in deep concentration.

I stood there stiffly, arms outstretched as he worked, hyper-aware of the tiny white chalk marks appearing on my clothes.

“Perfect,”

he declared at last, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Then, as if it were nothing, he shoved a bundle of fresh clothes into my arms—loose pants and a tunic, the subtle embroidery at the cuffs telling me they were his—and promptly shooed me toward the back of the cave.

“Go wash up,”

he said.

"I’ll send Lian to collect your things once you’re done.”

I scowled, clutching the clothes against my chest.

"You’re a menace.”

Elías grinned.

"I prefer the term ‘visionary.’”

Winding deeper into the cave, I followed the distant sound of rushing water until I stumbled upon a natural spring, its surface smooth and glassy under the faint glow of bioluminescent moss. The water shimmered, dark and inviting, reflecting the jagged ceiling above like a portal to another world.

I exhaled, suddenly aware of the layers of sweat and grime clinging to my skin after days of relentless travel. The thought of warm water washing it all away made my muscles ache with longing.

Stripping off my clothes, I folded them into a neat pile near the entrance, just beyond the reach of the damp mist rising from the water. Before stepping in, I nudged the bundle further into the shadows. I knew Lian would come for them soon, and while I trusted him, I didn’t trust him with the sight of my back. He had seen my bruises, my exhaustion, the haunted look in my eyes—but not the scars.

Not those.

Those belonged to me alone.

I waded in slowly, undoing my braid as I went. A sigh brushed past my lips when the water lapped over my skin, soothing the knots in my muscles. I ducked beneath the surface, letting the warmth seep into my bones before resurfacing and slicking my hair back. The silence was thick, broken only by the gentle ripple of the spring and the distant sounds of the jungle filtering through the cave’s mouth.

I hummed to myself as I worked, washing away the filth of the last few days. The melody was something old, something familiar—one of the few things I had left from before Mother had stripped the softness from my life.

Then something splashed behind me.

I froze, my breath hitching, ears straining for movement. Slowly, deliberately, I turned toward the disturbance, careful not to stir the water too much. The ripples spread outward, and my pulse hammered against my ribs.

I inched a hand toward my discarded clothes and the dagger Malakai had given me, slipping it into my palm.

The water shifted. A long, sinuous shape slithered just beneath the surface.

Too small and not fluid enough to be a snake.

I braced myself.

Then, a small head popped up from the water, red-tipped ears flicking forward in curiosity.

I blinked.

Two bright blue eyes regarded me with an almost amused expression, and as the creature pulled itself onto a nearby ledge, water sloughed off its sleek, multicolored fur. Its body was small, somewhere between a fox and a cat, with tufted rabbit ears perched atop its narrow head and a thick, bushy tail that flicked droplets into the air. Its paws, dainty and clawed like an ocelot’s, padded onto the damp rock, its tail swishing as it settled into a crouch.

An alebrije.

A grin tugged at my lips despite myself.

"Well, hello there,”

I murmured, lowering the knife.

The alebrije chittered, tilting its head as if appraising me before darting forward in a quick, playful motion.

I extended a cautious hand, letting it sniff my fingers. Its nose twitched, and after a brief pause, it eagerly shoved its head beneath my palm, demanding scratches. A deep purr rumbled from its chest.

I laughed, the sound slipping from me before I could stop it.

"Bold little thing, aren’t you?”

The creature chattered back at me, its tail flicking excitedly, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to simply enjoy the moment. There was something oddly freeing about this—the warmth of the water, the weightlessness of the cave, the soft, chuffing noises of the alebrije as it leaned into my touch.

I scratched behind its ears, marveling at the soft fur.

"Where did you come from?”

It made a series of quick, clicking noises as if answering. I grinned. “That so?”

Alebrijes were known to be mischievous, but the smaller ones were harmless. The larger ones—those monstrous, gilded beasts that Mother kept in her army—were another story entirely.

The creature darted forward suddenly, leaping into the water and sending a spray across my bare shoulders. I gasped in mock horror, a grin spreading across my face, and then retaliated by splashing back at it. It squealed in delight and bolted through the water, circling me like a fish before lunging—straight for my head.

“Hey—!”

I yelped as it landed atop my skull, balancing its tiny body like I was some kind of perch.

I tried to shake it off, but it only nestled deeper into my wet hair, pawing at the strands like a nesting bird.

“You can’t just claim me like this!”

I protested, swiping at it with wet fingers.

It purred smugly.

I huffed, crossing my arms. This was my life now. A glorified alebrije roost.

And, strangely, I didn’t mind.

The sharp whisper of steel being drawn and the heavy pound of boots against stone shattered the quiet, making my heart jolt.

The alebrije in my arms let out a startled chitter and scrambled down from my head, its tiny claws pressing into my skin as it dove into my chest, burrowing into the safety of my arms.

Its bushy tail curled around me, conveniently shielding what little modesty I had left.

Before I could react, Malakai burst into the cave, a feral growl rumbling low in his throat. His violet eyes burned in the dim light, his sword glinting as he raised it, ready to strike.

He looked like a god of war, all sharp lines and honed edges, his body wound tight with battle-readiness. Too ready. Too dangerous.

Then he saw me, standing waist-deep in the water.

His steps faltered.

His grip slackened on the hilt of his sword, the blade lowering inch by inch.

His mouth parted slightly, his breath hitching as he took me in—truly took me in.

His gaze dragged over me in a slow, deliberate sweep, starting at the curve of my bare shoulders, lingering down the slick planes of my arms where water still clung to my skin in shimmering rivulets.

His jaw clenched tight, a muscle feathering along its sharp edge.

I should have moved.

I should have said something.

But I was frozen, caught in the intensity of his stare, trapped in this strange moment where he looked at me as though I were something other—something unexpected.

Something worth looking at.

And goddess, the way he looked at me.

Like he had stumbled upon something sacred, something he had no right to touch but wanted to anyway. Like a man who had spent his whole life fighting battles, only to be caught off guard by something as simple as this—as me.

Heat flared beneath my skin, creeping up my throat, pooling in the pit of my stomach. No. I shouldn’t have felt like this. Shouldn’t have felt so . . . seen.

Because what was he seeing? A shadow of the girl I once was? The assassin, the killer, the weapon forged in the dark? I was not the beauty he was looking at now—I was a ruined thing, a splintered thing.

My ribs jutted sharper than they used to.

My collarbones were more pronounced, my frame leaner in a way that had nothing to do with grace and everything to do with six months of near-starvation in a dungeon.

I was less than what I had been, a weaker version of myself.

And yet, Malakai was looking at me like I was more.

I clenched my jaw. No. Whatever this was, whatever this meant, it wasn’t real. It was just a trick of the light, a trick of my own loneliness—of his loneliness.

Malakai’s gaze snapped up to meet mine, and that was somehow worse. Because the way he was looking at me now, it wasn’t just that he was staring. It was that he was lingering.

Like he didn’t want to look away. Like he wasn’t sure if he could.

He took half a step forward before stopping himself, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword as though he needed the feel of the weapon to ground him.

Then, as if waking from a trance, he ripped his gaze away, turning sharply to face the cavern wall. His ears—goddess, his ears had turned red.

“I—”

He cleared his throat, shaking his head as though physically resetting himself.

"I thought I heard shouting.”

I swallowed hard, still gripping the alebrije like a lifeline. My heart hadn’t slowed yet, pounding against my ribs. Why did he look so furious?

I pressed the small creature closer, grateful for its warm tail draped conveniently across my chest.

"I—uh—it was nothing. Just this little thing sneaking up on me.”

Malakai exhaled, sheathing his sword with a sharp snick.

"Right. That’s . . . great,”

he said, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice sounded strangely strained. Had he actually been worried?

He shifted his weight, still facing the wall as though he refused to look at me directly. His silver hair, usually falling loose over his face, was swept back in its half-braided style, exposing the slight point of his ears. I’d never seen him flustered before, not like this.

His usual arrogance was absent, replaced with something rawer. More uncertain.

“I’ll, uh—”

He motioned vaguely toward the exit.

"I’ll go now.”

Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and strode out, his long strides quickly disappearing into the shadows.

I exhaled slowly, only now realizing how tense I had been. The alebrije, as if sensing my bewilderment, chirruped in amusement.

I scowled at it, holding it up to eye level.

"Did you plan that?”

I asked suspiciously. Even unbonded alebrijes were known for their mischief, nudging the flow of events in ways that often seemed far too convenient.

It flicked its ears back innocently, then licked my nose.

I sighed, shaking my head. Traitor.

Still, I couldn’t quite erase the moment from my mind. Malakai had come running—not striding, not his usual leisurely saunter, but running—because he thought I was in danger. He hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t second-guessed.

Had that been fear in his eyes?

Or was I just imagining it?

I finished my bath and toweled off, slipping into the fresh clothes Elías had given me. They were too large, hanging loose at my shoulders and pooling at my wrists, but I was too exhausted to care.

As I wrung the water from my hair, my mind kept circling back to Malakai, to the look on his face, to the way his ears had turned red when he realized—I was naked.

And yet, for a fleeting moment, he had a look of yearning.

But that was a ridiculous thought, and one I refused to dwell on any longer. Malakai was a mercenary, a man who dealt in blood and coin. Whatever I thought I saw in his eyes was just a trick of the dim light and my own frayed emotions. A cruel trick of my exhaustion. Nothing more.

I turned my attention to the small creature nestled against me as it cleaned its damp fur with a flickering pink tongue. It didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the mess it had just caused.

“So?”

I murmured, watching as its tail swished lazily.

"Are you staying here, or coming with me?”

The alebrije chirped and hopped to its feet before settling into a perfect, upright sit. It was a smug little thing, clearly making its choice.

“Alright then,”

I said with a small grin, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear before making my way back toward the main cavern.

I arrived to find Elías barking orders at Malakai as the Hada warrior threaded a thin strand of silver magic through the fabric of my pants.

“I want a looped seam for durability. No shortcuts,”

Elías demanded, wagging an accusatory finger at Malakai.

Malakai heaved a long-suffering sigh, murmuring something under his breath in a language I didn’t recognize, but the frustration in his tone was clear enough. I hid my laugh behind my hand, though my shoulders shook with the effort.

His gaze flicked up at the sound, catching me mid-smirk. His fingers faltered for just a moment, his breath hitching as his violet eyes swept over me. Then, as if realizing what he was doing, his cheeks colored, and he quickly snapped his attention back to the silver thread he was weaving into the fabric.

“I see you brought that thing with you,”

he muttered, not lifting his eyes.

Elías spun at my approach, his face breaking into a wide grin as his gaze landed on the alebrije at my feet.

“Aww, it’s so cute!”

he cooed, immediately reaching out to pet it.

I opened my mouth to warn him, but the alebrije moved faster.

With a sharp snap, it nipped at his outstretched fingers.

“Ouch!”

Elías yelped, yanking his hand back and shoving his bleeding finger into his mouth.

"That thing is mean.”

From across the fire, Dom, who had been hunched over a book, didn’t even bother to look up as he muttered, “Sounds like someone I know. Bites first, asks questions never.”

I bristled at the jab, turning my glare toward him, but before I could retort, Kerun chimed in, his smirk lazy and amused.

“You got what you deserved, Elí. Consent matters, you know.”

Malakai let out a chuckle, but quickly smothered his grin when Elías spun to glare at him.

“Oh, I see. Gang up on me, why don’t you?”

Elías huffed dramatically before turning his attention back to the alebrije, which had perched smugly at my feet, looking unrepentant. He narrowed his eyes at the creature.

"You and I are not going to be friends, are we?”

The alebrije chirped, blinking its wide blue eyes at him before letting out a faint hiss.

Elías scowled.

"I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

Shaking his head, he turned back toward Malakai and waved a hand at me.

"Go sit and eat something. This is going to take a while.”

His gaze flicked warily back to the alebrije.

"And take that thing with you.”

I smirked, scooping up the creature as I made my way to my bedroll. As I sat, I caught Malakai sneaking another glance at me. His lips quirked, but he quickly schooled his expression when he realized I had caught him.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

Maybe I had imagined that look earlier.

Or maybe I hadn’t.

I leaned against the cavern wall and pulled out the pitiful carving I was working on, letting the flickering firelight warm my face as I watched Elías and Malakai work. They were completely absorbed in their task, both of them utterly convinced that they were right.

The foxlike alebrije at my side curled into a tight ball, its bushy tail flicking slightly before it settled into sleep, its soft breaths rising and falling in time with mine.

Elías’s head was bent low over the fabric, his lips moving as he pinned seams with tiny, delicate needles—ones I assumed Malakai had crafted from his magic. The Hada sat beside him, his fingers weaving silver thread through the fabric with an almost lazy precision.

Suddenly, Elías huffed, jabbing a finger at his sketch.

"You’re not following my design!”

he whined, his voice taking on the petulance of a spoiled prince denied his favorite sweets.

Malakai growled low in his throat, holding a length of silver thread between his teeth as he bit it clean through.

"Yes, I am,”

he mumbled, clearly exasperated.

Elías scoffed, tapping the paper with insistence.

"No, I specifically asked for double-stitched seams here.”

He jabbed at a spot on the bolero jacket with the air of a man delivering a death sentence.

Malakai sighed heavily, his arms crossing over his broad chest as he fixed Elías with a look that I imagined he usually reserved for criminals trying to haggle over a bounty.

"Do you have any idea how much extra time that’s going to take?”

Elías smirked, hands on his hips, chin lifted in defiance.

A tense silence stretched between them, the fire crackling in the background as Malakai stared him down. I waited, mildly amused, for which of them would break first.

Finally, Malakai blew out a sharp breath through his teeth. “Fine,”

he relented, rolling his eyes skyward as though appealing to some higher power for patience.

"Give me a few days. I’ll get it done.”

Elías beamed like he’d just won a war.

"Hear that, Nix?”

He turned to me with a flourish.

"A few days, and you’ll be looking like the princess you are.”

I groaned, covering my face with one hand.

"Please don’t start calling me that.”

Elías winked, smug.

"No promises, princesa.”

Before I could retaliate, a sharp clang echoed through the cavern, cutting through the easy banter like a blade. My head snapped toward the source of the noise.

Dom stood over a fallen metal bowl, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“It slipped,”

he muttered, but his eyes darted away too quickly, like a guilty child caught in the act.

A strange tension hung in the air. I wasn’t sure if I imagined it, but something about Dom’s body language was off. He was too rigid, more so than usual, his nostrils flaring as though swallowing back whatever had really caused his outburst.

But no one pressed him. No one said a word. Slowly, conversation picked back up, the moment slipping away, but I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had cracked open beneath the surface.

I turned back to my work, determined to ignore the churning unease in my gut.

Beside me, Lian settled down with his knife and block of wood. He was a quiet, patient teacher, guiding me through the next whittling technique with a steady voice. He didn’t scold me when my hands wavered, didn’t sigh in frustration when my blade slipped too deep. Instead, he merely showed me again, his own movements precise and effortless, as though the very wood itself bent to his will.

The alebrije stirred from its nap, its tiny head peeking over my knee to inspect my progress. It blinked those large, curious eyes and tilted its head in what I could only assume was judgment.

I huffed.

"Don’t look at me like that. I never claimed to be good at this.”

It let out a quiet chitter, swishing its tail.

I frowned at the disc of wood in my hand. It was supposed to be a simple design—a flower. Something delicate and intricate. Instead, it looked like a bear had tried to chew it into shape and promptly given up halfway through.

Still, despite my lack of talent, I found a quiet sort of peace in the slow, repetitive motion. My hands were busy, carving rather than killing, creating rather than destroying.

And when I thought no one was paying attention, I hummed softly to myself—a lullaby I hadn’t realized I still remembered.

The melody was old. Sad. The kind of song that lingered in the bones long after the words had been forgotten.

A song of home.

A home I could never return to.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, letting the song fade into the rustling of the jungle beyond.

Lian remained focused on his carving, the agave plant taking shape under his careful hands. The swirling details he added to the leaves were impossibly intricate, each stroke of the knife precise, as if he were coaxing the design out rather than forcing it into existence.

I set down my own work and stretched my fingers, rolling the tension from my knuckles. The alebrije, ever the curious little thing, leaped over my legs and padded toward Lian, its large ears twitching as it observed his hands moving over the wood.

Lian glanced down at the creature, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Are you going to name it?”

I scoffed lightly, folding my arms.

"No. It’ll probably run off by morning. They’re fickle like that.”

It was the truth—or at least, it should have been. Unbonded alebrijes rarely stayed in one place for long. They were mischievous, free-spirited things, as unpredictable as the wind. And yet . . . this one hadn’t left my side since it found me.

Lian hummed in thought, still whittling as the creature crept closer.

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that,”

he mused, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

The alebrije peered up at him, its wide blue eyes assessing him with something close to curiosity. Then, without hesitation, it slithered between his legs and plopped its head into his lap, its tail curling lazily around his knee.

Lian stiffened for only a fraction of a second before exhaling a quiet chuckle. He shifted slightly, adjusting so he wouldn’t disturb the creature.

"Looks like it’s made up its mind,”

he murmured, scratching just behind its large, rabbit-like ears.

The alebrije let out a soft, trilling purr, pressing further into the warmth of his lap, completely content.

I watched them, a small smile creeping onto my lips despite myself.

"I’ll name it if it’s still here by morning,”

I relented, my voice quieter than before.

Even as I said it, I had the distinct feeling that by morning, the little creature would still be curled up right where it was, sleeping soundly without a care in the world.