"When Ryhain returns, I'll take you to the common house," I said, keeping my voice level. "You need a proper meal."
"Oh, you don't have to go to any trouble—"
"You need to maintain your strength if you're going to continue monitoring Ardin." The excuse came easily, wrapped in logic and reason. Not because the thought of her going hungry created an uncomfortable tightness behind my ribs. Not because I wanted to watch her eat, to see satisfaction replace the weariness in her eyes.
She studied me for a long moment, her gaze searching my face for something I wasn't sure I wanted her to find. Then she nodded, a genuine smile breaking through. "Okay. Thank you. That would be... really nice, actually."
"It's settled then." I glanced toward the door, straining to hear any sign of Ryhain's approach. The sooner my sister arrived, the sooner I could get Jordan fed. The sooner I could stop cataloging every small detail about her—the way morning light highlighted her hair with spun gold, how her scent wrapped around me like silk, clean and floral with an underlying warmth that made me want to lean closer.
It was just novelty, I told myself firmly. Something new and different in a life that had become predictable. Nothing more than that.
Nothing at all.
Footsteps approached, and Ryhain materialized in the doorway like an answer to prayer, a wooden tray balanced carefully in her hands. Steam curled upward from a clay bowl, carrying with it the rich, golden promise of bone broth—the same recipe our mother had pressed into our hands during childhood fevers and winter chills. The scent of herbs and marrow wrapped around us, warm and familiar.
"For when he wakes," Ryhain murmured, gliding past Jordan to settle the tray on the small table. Despite the exhaustion still clinging to her features, something bright flickered in her eyes—hope, fragile but growing. Her fingersghosted across Ardin's forehead in that instinctive way mothers have, checking for heat that was no longer there.
"The fever broke hours ago," Jordan offered, her voice soft as morning mist. "He'll wake soon. The broth is perfect timing."
The breath that escaped my sister's lips trembled. She pivoted toward Jordan, and the raw gratitude etched across her face made my chest tighten. "You saved him." The words came out thick with emotion. Before Jordan could deflect or minimize, Ryhain closed the distance and pulled her into a fierce embrace. "You saved my son."
Jordan went rigid—clearly unused to such displays—then melted into the gesture, her hand coming up to pat Ryhain's back with endearing awkwardness. "Of course. I'm just glad I could help."
When they finally separated, tears glittered in my sister's eyes like morning dew. "I owe you a debt that spans lifetimes."
"You don't owe me anything," Jordan insisted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Really."
I cleared my throat, breaking the moment before it could overwhelm us all. "I'm taking Jordan to the common house. She needs food."
Ryhain nodded, already sinking into the chair beside her son's bed, her vigil resumed. "Eat well."
The path to the common house wound through the heart of our village, and I found myself acutely aware of every detail—the way Jordan's shoulder nearly brushed mine as we walked, the curious tilt of her head as she took in her surroundings, the morning light catching in her hair like captured sunlight.
"That's the forge," I said, nodding toward the open-sided building where Jurik's hammer rang against steel in a steady rhythm. Sparks fountained upward with each strike, bright and fleeting. "Most of our weapons and tools are crafted there."
Jordan's face lit with genuine fascination. "It's incredible. Everything here feels so... intentional. Like every piece has its place."
"When survival hangs in the balance, chaos becomes a luxury we can't afford." I gestured toward a row of sturdy buildings. "Food stores. And that delightful aroma you're about to experience? The tannery."
Her nose scrunched in an expression so unexpectedly adorable that something warm unfurled in my chest. I looked away quickly.
But I couldn't escape the weight of attention that followed us through the village. Eyes tracked our progress from doorways and workstations. Conversations stuttered and died. Even though humans had woven themselves into the fabric of our community over the years, Jordan was fresh territory. An unknown quantity walking beside their chieftain.
And she was breathtaking.
I felt each stare like a brand, assessing, speculating.
Vorak emerged from between two buildings, one of my younger warriors with more confidence than sense. His gaze locked onto Jordan with unmistakable hunger, and his fist came up to thump against his chest—the ancient gesture that declared interest, that signaled intent to pursue.
Fury detonated in my veins. My hand flew to my blade before conscious thought could intervene, every instinct screaming to challenge, to claim, to make it crystal clear that Jordan was—
Mine.
The word blazed through my mind like wildfire.
I wrenched my hand away from the weapon, but couldn't suppress the growl that rumbled up from somewhere primal and possessive. Vorak's eyes went wide as moons, and he practically fled down the path.
"Ruka?" Jordan's voice pulled me back, concern softening her features. "What's wrong?"