Aurelia turned sharply, her voice taut as a bowstring. “Where’s Aeryn?”
Hayat’s eyes snapped back to her. “Safe,” he said. Too quickly. “At the house. If we leave now, we’ll reach it by sunrise.”
Relief flickered across her face, but it didn’t hold. Wariness crept in, subtle but certain, like she’d heard the same false note I had.
Because even if she didn’t see what I did, she felt it. The stance too rigid. The answers too fast. The eyes that slid past her to measure exits, weapons, threats—like a man in enemy territory, not one finding the woman he thought he’d nearly lost.
The quiet stretched.
Santiago muttered, “Well, that’s reassuring.” But his eyes stayed narrowed, watching Hayat.
Gabriel, quiet until now, shifted with a faint curl of distaste. He leaned close to Aurelia, but his words carried just enough foreveryone to hear. “He doesn’t belong here,” he said flatly. “Not with us. Not with you.”
Hayat’s gaze shifted to him. His mouth warped into something almost like a smile. “Careful, shadow elf,” he bit out, “I don’t recall anyone askingyouwhat belongs.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of violet in their depths. His reply was soft, lethal. “And I don’t recall anyone askingyouto come back.”
Aurelia took a step toward him. I felt the space it left.
52
Aurelia
“We can’t travelthrough the night,” Malachi said. His tone was final. “The horses are tired. We need to rest.”
Hayat’s voice slipped in before I could reply. “There’s a camp not far. Through the treeline, just across the field.”
We followed him. The field gave way to shadow, the hush of trees closing around us until a small clearing opened.
Hayat’s horse was tied just off the path. A tidy little camp sat near it. Pans of dried food stacked neatly by the fire pit, a blanket folded on the ground, a row of books lined along a log. It didn’t look temporary.
“How long have you been staying here?” I asked, my eyes catching on the order.
“Not long,” he said without looking at me. He didn’t elaborate. And that silence left questions clawing at the back of my throat.
Still, I wanted to believe him. Maybe it was just that we hadn’t had a moment alone. Maybe the space between us wasn’t distrust—just distance. And distance could be crossed.
Hayat’s gaze flicked toward me, and for a heartbeat he seemedto see something different. His brow pinched. “You’ve changed,” he said softly. “There’s… something about you.”
I forced a smile, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”
Santiago muttered something under his breath. The others just looked at each other.
“Hayat is my friend,” I said at last, my voice firmer than I expected. “He’s been worried. Imagine being in his position—left behind, not knowing. Please. Can we just get through one evening together? Tomorrow we move on.”
Gabriel, who had stayed quiet through most of it, finally reached into his pack and pulled out two skins of wine. “Then let’s drink,” he said flatly, as though daring anyone to argue.
We did.
Hayat poured generously, his voice warming as he began to speak.
He told them stories of Synnex, of my clumsy first sparring sessions, of how I’d once bloodied my own nose trying to copy the way he fought. He told them how I wouldn’t stop until I could hold a blade steady, how stubborn I’d been even when it hurt.
Hayat crouched by the fire, stirring a battered pan balanced over the coals. The smell of herbs and char drifted through the clearing. He portioned food into bowls with the same ease he wielded a blade, sliding one across the log toward Malachi without looking.
Malachi took a bite, chewed, and paused. “Needs salt,” he said.
For the barest breath, Hayat’s face cracked—incredulity flashing sharp in his eyes before he masked it again. Without a word, he slid me an extra piece from the pan.