CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
That night, sleep never came. Not that I wanted it to. Every time I closed my eyes, the fire came roaring back. My parents. The screaming. The smell. Arche.
It clung to me like smoke I couldn’t scrub off.
Aran was outside, keeping watch. I slipped out barefoot, careful not to wake Will, arms wrapped tight around myself. Aran was by the fire, one knee bent, a bottle resting against it. Flamelight flickered across his face, catching the shadows under his eyes.
“Is that what you do now?” I stopped a few feet away. “Drink until you forget?”
He didn’t flinch. Just tilted the bottle back and took a long, slow swallow.
Like it was for show.
Like he wanted to piss me off.
“You caught me.”
I sat across from him, pulling my knees up to my chest, as the fire crackled between us.
“You’re really going to waste your life like this?” I asked. “Drunk and reckless? Like you were at the bar?”
A bitter sound escaped him, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. He tipped the bottle back again before answering.
“Yeah. Maybe my life isn’t over, but it sure feels like it.”
“That’s deep,” I spat. “Coming from you.”
His eyes lifted to meet mine. “I told you, I had nothing to do with what happened. I didn’t betray you—”
“Swear it.” I didn’t blink. “Give me your word that you didn’t tell the vultures about The Wardens. Their plan. Any of it.”
“I didn’t.” His voice cracked, and he leaned forward. “I swear it. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m lying.”
He held my gaze, and I forced myself to meet it.
Those deep forest eyes, wild, broken, and full of something I recognized only as grief.
I wasn’t sure if I could trust my own judgment anymore, but I didn’t see an evil, backstabbing traitor when I looked.
I saw agony. And one thing was clear. He was more afraid of me than I’d ever been of him.
“They tried to make me talk,” he said, his voice fraying at the edges. “And I wouldn’t. I would’ve rather died than betray you. And that’s—”
He tried to push the words out, but they caught in his throat and stayed there. He didn’t need to finish. I already knew. He wouldn’t have left her, and nothing else could have hurt him like that.
“That’s why they killed Selma,” I said.
The words fell between us like death.
Final.
“They made me watch, Kera.” His voice broke like glass. “They butchered her like an animal. And I haven’t been the same since. I feel empty. Like my soul, if I ever had one, just vanished.”
His hand trembled as he dragged it across his face, like he could erase what he’d seen. What he’d done. What he hadn’t done.
“You don’t trust me. That’s fine. I get that.” He swallowed, hard. “But gods, please—please trust that I hate them just as much as you do.”
He tipped the bottle back again. The motion was sharp. Angry.
“This emptiness… this hollow ache—I need to drown it. Or it’ll drown me.” He sat there breathing like it hurt, the fire dancing in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
His shoulders slumped. “I don’t want your pity.”
“I think we’re both losers in this. We both tried. We both failed.” I continued. “And I probably would’ve done the same thing.” My chest ached. “If someone I loved was in danger…My brother was my world. He was always there. And then… he wasn’t. He was just gone.”
Aran opened his mouth to say something, but I shook my head.
“No. Let me finish.” I took a breath. It didn’t help.
“He was my world, but he wasn’t yours. You chose Selma over someone you barely knew, and I would have done that same thing.
I would have chosen my family over yours, any day.
And I don’t blame you for leaving.” My throat tightened.
“I used to stand at the edge of the woods. Just… stare. Imagine walking until I couldn’t anymore. ”
“You would’ve been dead by the first night.”
“You don’t know that.”
“At least you tried to fight.” His voice had softened again. “Even if you lost. You tried.”
“I don’t know if I did a good job.”
“You did.” He looked straight at me. “You were brave.” He hesitated. “I tried to be. But I failed. I couldn’t save them.”
I nodded, barely. “I don’t hate you, Aran. I hate that it happened. I hate what they made you do. But I don’t hate you.”
He... looked at me like he couldn’t believe the words had come out of my mouth. Like he wasn’t sure he deserved them.
“You...” His voice caught. “You forgive me?”
“I don’t know what that even means anymore.” I said. “But I think… I’m ready to move on. I don’t want to forget. But maybe it’s time we leave the past where it belongs.”
He let out a slow breath, then raised the flask between us like a peace offering.
“You might need some of this, though.”
I gave a tired shake of my head.
“I’m good.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small cloth pouch.
“Then take this. Maybe we could all sleep again.”
He set the moon drops beside me, the pouch soft and pale in the firelight. I stared at it.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked. “It’s just one night. One night without nightmares. Don’t you want that?”
I looked past him, to the shed wall flickering orange from the fire.
I did. Gods, I did. But it wasn’t that simple. The dreams weren’t just dreams. They were memories.
“I don’t know,” I muttered.
“You won’t know until you try.”
I hated how much I wanted to believe him. Hated how much I needed him to be right.
“Fine.” I uncorked the vial and took a sip. It was cold. Tasteless.
He gave me a small, broken smile.
“Good,” he said. “Now try to sleep.”
The cot was waiting.
I lay down, pulled the blanket tight around me, and shut my eyes.
Waited for the heat. For the screams. For the fire.
But nothing came.
Just wind. Just the soft crackle of flames outside.
And then—
Sleep.
Not like before. Not shallow or haunted or panicked.
I didn’t fall.
I drifted.
───── ????? ─────
For a moment, I forgot where I was. The hut.
The fire. The cold air curling around my ankles.
It all reminded me, and the world came back slowly, piece by piece.
I sat up, the blanket slipping from my shoulders.
Pale morning light filtered through the slats in the wall, and something inside me felt different. Lighter. Quieter.
Aran peeked his head into the hut, already grinning like he knew what I was going to say.
“How do you feel?”
“I—” I rubbed at my eyes, squinting against the light. “I didn’t dream.”
His grin stretched wider, like he’d just won a bet.
“See? Told you that stuff would work.”
I didn’t answer. I was still trying to wrap my head around it. There had been no fire. No screaming. No waking up with my heart racing or sweat sticking to my skin.
Just sleep. Real, solid sleep.
“It was weird,” I said after a moment. “I didn’t think it would actually do anything. But I slept.” I looked down at my hands, at the blanket gathered in my lap. I didn’t even realize I was gripping it. “I didn’t dream, at all.”
Outside, Will crouched by the fire, stirring a pot.
“So what, you’re saying some magic rocks and purple water actually worked?” he chimed in. His voice wasn’t sharp. His jabs were always saved for Aran. And Aran, of course, didn’t miss a beat.
“Yes, Will,” he said, stretching like a cat in the sun. “That’s exactly what we’re saying.”
Will stood with a sigh, and came over. He handed me a bowl of oats, warm and heavy, and met my eyes.
“If it helped you sleep,” he said, “that’s all that matters.”
I took the bowl in both hands, letting the heat soak into my fingers.
“Thanks.”
Aran nudged a pebble near the fire pit. “Maybe we should go see her again. See what else she’s got. If this worked...”
Will raised a brow.
“You want to stock up on trinkets and potions now?”
“If it helps Kera,” Aran said, unfazed, “I’d buy her whole stock.”
I looked between them, unsure. The sleep had been real. The calm, the quiet, the stillness in my chest. But it still felt fragile, like something I could lose the second I trusted it.
“And you can afford that, can you?” Will crossed his arms. “One night doesn’t mean anything. We can’t count on it.”
Aran rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.
“I think...” I hesitated, looking at Will. “Maybe we should go back. Just to ask. Just to... understand.”
“Alright,” he said. “But I’m coming with you this time.”