Chapter 31 Kieran
Kieran
Four days.
Four days of climbing. Four days of wind that cuts through every layer. Four days of narrow ledges and loose stone and cold so deep it settles into bone.
We’re a little past halfway. I can feel it in the thinning air, the way the mountain’s magic presses against my skin. The sanctuary at the peak is close enough now that its pull is unmistakable.
Close enough to feel.
Not close enough to reach.
I take point because I refuse to let anyone else risk the edges. The path here is barely a path at all — more suggestion than structure, crumbling stone that shifts under every footfall. One wrong step and the mountain will swallow you whole.
Behind me, the group moves in exhausted silence. No one has the energy for conversation anymore. Even Finn has gone quiet, his usual chaos muted by cold and fatigue.
I check on her without meaning to.
It’s become reflexive. A glance over my shoulder every few minutes to confirm she’s still there, still upright, still breathing. I tell myself it’s tactical. That I’m monitoring the group’s weakest points.
I’m lying.
Kaia walks a few paces behind Torric and Finn. Her gait is stiff — exhaustion she won’t admit to, wearing at muscles that have been pushed too hard for too long. Bob prowls at her side, edges sharp. Mouse scouts the ledges ahead, darting between shadows with predatory focus.
Her shadows are wrapped close today. Tighter than normal. Protective in a way that tells me she’s more strained than she’s letting on.
Her breath fogs in the air. She keeps rubbing her arms.
I hate that I can’t give her my coat anymore. That she wouldn’t accept it if I tried.
The boulder came two days ago.
Loose stone, weakened by frost. It broke free without warning — a crack, a rumble, and then half the mountainside was falling toward Darian.
I moved first.
Her shadows moved faster.
The Eds swarmed — dozens of them, throwing themselves between Darian and the crushing weight of stone. The impact was brutal. When the dust cleared, several of them were just gone. Crushed. Unmade.
Kaia gasped. Her hand went to her chest — to the bond, I realized. The one she shares with all of us. The one that includes him now, whether any of us like it or not.
That’s when I understood.
She won’t let Darian die. Even now. Even after everything.
Not forgiveness. Not yet.
But connection.
And connection is what terrifies me.
I’ve started noticing the pattern.
It’s subtle. The kind of thing you’d miss if you weren’t watching. If you weren’t cataloging every movement, every glance, every unconscious shift of weight.
But I am watching. I always am.
Every time Darian stumbles, Kaia glances back.
Every time the air thins or the footing gets treacherous, he moves closer to her. Automatically. Like gravity.
Every time she slows, his pace matches hers.
She tries to ignore it. Pretends she doesn’t notice the way their orbits keep intersecting.
Her shadows do not pretend.
Patricia’s notebook flickers with pointed light whenever Darian drifts too near. Bob inserts himself physically between them more than once — but not aggressively. A wall of shadow and silent judgment.
Mouse growls each time Darian crosses some invisible threshold. Low. Warning.
Darian ignores all of it. Or doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.
The Eds still cluster around him, despite losing several of their number to the boulder. Loyal to a fault. Protective in ways I don’t fully understand.
I watch Kaia almost laugh at something Finn says.
I look away immediately.
We stop when the mountain finally forces us to.
The wind is brutal here — cutting sideways across the path with enough force to stagger. There’s no shelter. No caves. No convenient overhangs. Just exposed stone and open sky and cold that seeps through everything.
Everyone is staggering.
Kaia tries to insist we keep going. “We’re so close. We can push through—”
“We can’t.” Finn’s voice is gentle but firm. “Trouble, look at yourself. Look at all of us. We need to rest.”
She opens her mouth to argue.
Closes it.
Nods, once.
Bob circles the perimeter aggressively, bristling at shadows that aren’t there.
Mouse curls at Kaia’s feet, a small warm weight against the cold.
Finnick attempts to imitate Aspen’s shivering — an exaggerated, full-body convulsion — and Bob shoves him into a snowdrift without breaking patrol stride.
Aspen snorts. It’s the closest thing to laughter we’ve had in days.
I approach her while the others are settling.
“You should take this.” I hold out my coat.
She doesn’t look at me. “I’m fine.”
“You’re freezing.”
“I said I’m fine.”
I let a beat pass. “The path gets worse ahead. You should rest while you can.”
She nods. Still doesn’t look at me.
Her shadows stiffen between us — not aggressive, but watchful. Wary. Like they’re not sure what I’m going to do next.
Neither am I.
I step back. That’s what I do now.
As the group settles in for the night, I find a position at the edge of our makeshift camp. Close enough to respond if needed. Far enough to give her space.
I watch without meaning to. Again. Always.
Darian shifts closer to the group for warmth. His movements are stiff with cold, his face pale.
Kaia shifts to give him room.
She doesn’t seem to realize she’s doing it.
Mouse growls once — low, disapproving — but doesn’t stop her.
Finn watches from across the camp, biting his cheek. His chaos magic sparks faintly in the darkness, restless.
Malrik pretends not to notice. His silver eyes are fixed on the path ahead, but his jaw is tight.
Torric is simmering. I can feel the heat radiating off him, anger he’s barely containing.
And Darian just… settles. Accepts the space she gave him. Doesn’t acknowledge what it means.
I see it all with brutal clarity.
Darian is a gravity well.
Kaia is orbiting without realizing it.
And I am losing the one thing I’ve been pretending I didn’t want anymore.
Halfway up a goddamn mountain, and somehow he’s still the one she gravitates toward.
I hate how unsurprised I am.