Elena

The sun dipped below the horizon as we rode, casting long shadows across the forest path. The air grew colder, a crisp bite seeping into the dusk, and I tightened my cloak against the chill. We’d been riding hard since morning, the steady clip of our horses’ hooves the only sound breaking the silence between us. Rafe had barely spoken a handful of words all day, and while I wasn’t surprised, the long hours of silence had a way of stretching the road even farther.

We pulled off the path to make camp as twilight settled over the trees. I dismounted, feeling the ache in my legs and shoulders. The clearing we’d found was small and tucked between a dense cluster of trees—just enough space for a fire and two bedrolls. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

“I’ll get the fire going,” I said, more to myself than to Rafe. He was already unloading the saddlebags, his movements swift and methodical as he laid out our bedrolls on opposite sides of the clearing.

He nodded without looking up, his face cast in shadow as he worked. Ever the conversationalist.

I shook my head, crouching down to arrange the firewood I’d packed. With a quick strike of a match, the flames flickered to life, throwing a warm glow across the clearing. I sat back on my heels, watching the fire catch, feeling its warmth seep into my bones as night fully descended.

Dinner was a modest affair—dried meat, hard bread, and a small wedge of cheese. I handed Rafe his share without ceremony, settling down beside the fire with my own meal.

“So,” I began, breaking the silence that had clung to us all day. “Ever been to Isley?”

Rafe took a slow bite of his food, chewing with the kind of deliberation that suggested he was in no rush to answer. “Once. A long time ago.”

Right. Of course. I swallowed my irritation and took a bite of bread, watching the flames as they licked at the wood. Small talk wasn’t exactly my strong suit either, but his silence had a weight to it, like he was keeping me at arm’s length on purpose.

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“Master Faris made this Garrick guy sound like a real piece of work,” I tried again, aiming for a topic that might get more than a monosyllable. “Got any advice?”

Rafe glanced at me, his expression unreadable in the firelight. “Heard he’s difficult,” he said slowly. “But not unreasonable.”

I waited, hoping he’d elaborate, but when he didn’t, I gave up and returned my gaze to the fire. “Right,” I muttered. “Good to know.”

The flames crackled and popped, filling the space between us. I leaned back, stretching out my legs and letting my eyes drift up to the stars, which were just beginning to peek through the branches above. I didn’t need conversation to fill the silence—years of traveling alone had taught me how to find comfort in it. But Rafe’s silence was different. Intentional. Like he was deliberately keeping himself closed off, even with no one else around.

After we finished eating, I packed away the remnants of our meal and glanced at him. He sat on the other side of the fire, his face half-lit by the flames, staring into them as if they held secrets only he could see. I knew I should let it go, but the quiet tension between us was gnawing at me.

“You know,” I said, my tone light but laced with an edge of challenge, “we’re going to be stuck together for a while. You don’t have to treat me like a ghost.”

He looked up, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes—a glint that was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “I’m not treating you like anything,” he replied calmly. “Just focused on the mission.”

“The mission,” I echoed, biting back a sigh. “Right. Of course.”

He didn’t respond, just watched me with that same, unreadable expression. The firelight flickered over his face, casting shadows that made him look even more distant, as though he were a part of the darkness surrounding us. It was maddening, this wall he’d built between us.

Eventually, I sighed, pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders as the fire began to die down. “Alright,” I said, rising to my feet. “I’m going to get some rest. Long day tomorrow.”

He gave a single nod, returning his gaze to the flames without a word. Fine by me. If he wanted to brood in silence all night, that was his choice.

I set up my bedroll on the opposite side of the fire, far enough to give us both space but close enough to feel its warmth. The ground was hard beneath me, the cold biting through my cloak, but exhaustion weighed heavy on my limbs.

As I lay there, staring up at the stars, I couldn’t help but wonder how long this uneasy truce between us would last. Maybe, with time, he’d open up. Or maybe he’d keep his distance for the entire journey. Either way, we were in this together now.

Whether he liked it or not.