Chapter 6

The forest stretched on for days, a labyrinth of moss and shadows. Sylvia’s feet were blistered, her calves raw, but she kept walking. Kept choosing to walk.

Lavinia never slowed for her, never offered a hand, but she didn’t leave her behind either. At night, she kept her distance by the fire—yet somehow Sylvia always woke to find her still there, silent and watchful.

They hadn’t spoken of the tree. They hadn’t spoken much at all. But something had shifted.

When Sylvia stumbled now, Lavinia’s hand would twitch like she almost reached out before shoving it into her cloak. When Lavinia barked at her to keep up, her voice was sharper than ever, but her eyes… her eyes no longer burned with pure threat. They smoldered with something Sylvia couldn’t name.

On the fourth night, rain hammered through the canopy. Their fire sputtered uselessly. Sylvia huddled beneath a makeshift covering of branches, shivering, until she felt the shadow fall across her.

Lavinia stood there, water slicking her dark hair to her face, cloak dripping. For a long time, she said nothing. Then, curt and quiet:

“Move over.”

Sylvia blinked. “What?”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

It wasn’t tenderness. It was practicality. It was survival. But when Lavinia dropped down beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed, Sylvia swore the heat of her body cut sharper than the rain.

Neither of them spoke. The storm swallowed the silence whole.