Page 111 of Nothing But Air

You talk about putting your trust in God. In the Rock. But do you? Because to me, it looks like the only one you put faith in is Teague.

Her words from earlier. Still landing like blows.

Because she was right.

His hand found the knife on his belt, checking that it was accessible. Not that he expected to need it. But with sabotaged equipment and mysterious injuries and people who wouldn’t tell the truth?—

He wasn’t taking chances.

He’d thought maybe Eden was different. Maybe she could love him despite his failures. Trust him despite his recklessness.

But she’d looked at him and seen exactly what he was.

Someone who would always choose the mission. Someone who’d keep pushing until he pushed too far. Someone who could never seem to get it right.

And she was done with him.

As much as it hurt—a deep, hollow ache that had nothing to do with his ribs—maybe it was for the best.

He let the fire burn down and ignored the pain in his side.

And settled in for the long watch.

Eden pulled another twig from her braid and added it to the small pile beside her sleeping bag.

She’d lost count of how many she’d found—the price of sleeping on bare ground with her head too close to the scrub brush. Teague had insisted it provided protection.

The only way to you is through me, he’d said.

But the brush did nothing for her hair.

He lay in front of her now, facing out. A wall of limestone at her back. A wall of Teague at her front.

He’d kept his back to her all night.

She’d slept better than expected in the few hours she’d had, knowing he was there. Even if that knowing made her chest tight with something that might have been worry.

Or might have been something deeper she wasn’t ready to name.

Now Marcus and Kyle worked on breakfast as the sun finally crept over the eastern rim. Teague must have realized she’d awoken, because he stood and walked over to the other two, returning with instant oatmeal and coffee that tasted like mud but packed enough caffeine to matter.

Over the next hour, the camp stayed eerily quiet except for spoons scraping metal cups and the occasional clink of gear as they packed up.

Marcus’s brown hair was still disheveled from sleep, his eyes hollow. Whatever secrets he kept had etched new lines around his mouth overnight.

Kyle seemed more alert. Almost energized.

And Eden caught him watching her more than once when he thought she wasn’t looking. Each time, cold slid down her spine. Which didn’t make sense.

Teague finally agreed to let her out of his sight to take care of personal needs—and even then, he marched her a good ten-minute walk from camp. He’d used the time to radio in for status on the injured. Trey was doing well. Liam was sedated because of swelling, but scans showed no brain bleeds. Meg had called it a good sign.

Small mercies.

Now Teague moved through the before-hike routine with grim efficiency—checking water, organizing the medical kit, repacking gear. He hadn’t looked at her directly since they woke. Hadn’t asked how she slept. Hadn’t done any of the small things that had seemed natural just a few days ago.

Professional.

Distant.