Or worse—make me embarrass myself to death first. Because let’s be honest, the big blue dude affects me, so of course my go-to is finding new and wonderful ways to humiliate myself.
I reach my room and start sorting through the mess I call belongings. Not that I own much. Everything I have, I either salvaged, stole, or traded for. And very little of it screams “appropriate for trekking through God-knows-what terrain while fighting off nightmares and trying not to get eaten.”
Still, I do my best.
Clean undies. Because I may die, but I will die with dignity. Thick socks. Because blisters are a bitch. Sturdy walking boots I’d traded for something ridiculous (was it a broken radio? A spoon? Who even knows anymore). My weapons—because I’m not an idiot.
The dagger is my favourite. Small, deadly, and fits perfectly in the sheath at my waist. Close combat isn’t ideal, but I’m short and wiry, which makes me fast. If I’m going to go down, at least I’ll make it interesting.
With my pack mostly sorted, there’s only one thing left to grab—food.
The mess hall is buzzing when I step in, and for the first time in my life, I seem to be the main attraction. Conversations lull, heads turn, and I hear my name whispered in the usual mix of concern, amusement, and barely concealed bets about whether or not I’ll survive.
“Good luck,” someone says.
“Try not to die,” another chimes in helpfully.
Wow. So much faith in me. Really warms the heart.
Molsi and Decca are waiting for me near the food prep area, and the second they see me, I can tell they’re anxious.
Molsi, their greyish skin shifting in patches of nervous agitation, clicks something in their native tongue before shaking their head. “You are going to get yourself killed.”
Decca’s fingers curl into fists as she exhales sharply. “You don’t have to do this.”
I wave them off. “Pfft. I’ll be fine.” Then, because I hate the lump forming in my throat, I add, “Besides, someone has to go save Dawson’s cute butt. He’s a sweetheart. Just wait till you meet the guy.”
Molsi rolls their eyes but hands me a pack of food, the contents inside suspiciously lumpy and of unknown origin. I don’t ask questions.
“Eat it,” Decca orders. “Even if it looks back at you.”
I take it with a theatrical grimace but with real gratitude. “You guys are the best. Kinda, maybe love you. Probably gonna miss you. Fuck off.”
Molsi’s lips twitch. “Touching.”
But then Decca hands me a second pack, and my stomach sinks. “For Kael.”
I stare at it. Then at her. Then back at the pack as if it might come to life and bite me. Something in my face must be hilarious because Molsi makes a delighted little noise, and Decca’s eyes narrow in intrigue.
“So,” Decca hums, all casual-like. “What’s your deal with the Glowranth that’s causedthatreaction?”
“No deal,” I say quickly. “There’s no deal. I just—he’s just—a dick.”
“Uh-huh,” Molsi drawls, clearly not buying it. “A sexy dick?”
I make a strangled noise. “That’s not the point.” And I really wish I hadn’t taught either of them English words likesexy. I should have known my awesome teaching skill would come back to bite me on my own verysexybutt.
Decca grins. “Oh, but it is.”
And just like that, I’m ranting.
It starts off strong. I say all the things I’ve been thinking. How Kael is the worst. How he keeps blowing hot and cold. How I don’t understand him. How he represents the very thing that has slaughtered so many of the rebels.
And then.
Somehow.
It all goes downhill.
