Page 102 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

He pulled her into a hug—solid and grounding, unexpected from the quiet man who always shied from affection like he didn’t deserve it. She leaned into it, her throat dry and thick.

“Tav loved you,” she whispered. “I do too. Thank you for staying with me.”

His hand came to her cheek, warm and rough.

“Never thought of leaving.” He hesitated, voice softening. “Not the only one who stayed.”

She tugged absently at one horn, forcing herself not to look across toward Orzen, where he was helping Branwynn and Tommick pack their things. The space between them was wide and treacherous, like one wrong step might send her falling.

“I noticed,” she said quietly.

Garin hummed low in his chest. “I don’t know everything between you two,” he said. “Not my business. But it’s plain he cares enough to stay—even when it hurts. That’s not nothing.”

He let out a slow breath, the kind that sounded like it carried years behind it. “I’d burn the world down with my anger if I let it all go,” he murmured. “But it won’t bring Tavrin back. Doesn’t help the living either.” He gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Feels better in the moment, though.”

She closed her eyes. It did feel better. Rage was a bright, fierce thing—abrasive enough to keep the grief at bay—but when it dimmed, it left her hollow.

Garin’s hand squeezed her shoulder, firm and steady. “Don’t hold it forever, girl. It’ll burn you worse than it burns him.”

She swallowed hard and finally let her gaze drift toward Orzen. He was leaning against a tree, murmuring something to Branwynn. The sight left a quiet ache between her shoulders. “I’ll think about what you said.”

She hugged him once more, breathing in the scent of smoke and earth that always clung to him. When she let go, the others were already gathering around Silas. He pointed out the path ahead. Wren looked east. She didn’t know what waited for them, only that the answers were out there, and she needed to find them.

Chapter 27

The Shape of Hunger

The forest started changing right away. Silas kept them moving. He led them with ease, sliding beads along a cord at his hip to track their distance, the stones hitting each other with sharp taps.

By nightfall, the leaves had grown slick with dew that never burned away, releasing a metallic scent of iron underfoot. Moss crept higher with each mile, pulsing faintly with warmth when they brushed against it, as if the forest was a living being, breathing beneath their touch.

They fell into a weary rhythm, the strangeness pressing the air flat around their voices. Jessa kept to the middle with Branwynn and Calen, spinning tales of old heroes to distract Tommick, who tired first. Orzen guarded the rear, blade drawn but unneeded. No predators came, no Witherborn nor Fist—only silence, thick and watchful.

The days blurred together in hours of ache, chill, and dreamless exhaustion. At camp, rest never came easily. Tavrin’s hollow eyes followed her into sleep, whispering that she’d share his fate soon enough.

By the third day, their food and water ran thin. When they stopped to rest, Tommick groaned dramatically, leaning against Branwynn like a wilted bud.

“Are we close yet?” he asked for the fifth time that morning. “I’m thirsty.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Jessa said, though even her cheer had dulled at the edges.

Silas glanced back, smiling enough to show teeth. “Time goes faster if you stop counting the steps.” His tone was gentle, but something in it made Branwynn shift closer to the boy. “Gotta keep up. Forest’s too dangerous to linger—I can’t protect anyone staring at their boots.”

They’d barely started again when Tommick darted toward a shrub heavy with rosy globes. “Apples!”

Calen caught him mid-reach. “Apples don’t grow on bushes.”

One fruit dropped and burst open, spilling a hiss of fetid air. Its skin was fleshy, veined, and wet. Tommick stumbled back, wrinkling his nose.

“Those aren’t apples.”

“New rule: don’t touch anything red,” Branwynn said quickly. “Actually—don’t touch anything.”

The day stretched thin as they pressed toward the first landmark expected on their map: a group of cascading pools. But they hadn’t seen any evidence of fresh water in days.

Silas pulled Wren aside to study the map again. “If it’s right, we should’ve found them by now,” he muttered. His voice stayed even, but frost edged his words. “Your friend wasn’t much of a cartographer.”

Wren slipped the map back into her pack.