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Whispering FLowers

  Chapter 16 The air outside the control room was startlingly different. After the close, suffocating darkness of the chamber, the brightness nearly blinded them. Elena raised a hand to shield her eyes from the unexpected sunlight that poured through the cracks in the ruined structure. The world outside had changed. Where twisted vines and skeletal trees once reached out like claws, there were now tall, swaying grasses bathed in gold. The moss that had grown over broken stone was vibrant, blooming with soft purple and blue flowers. Sunlight streamed down like a blessing, dappling the ground in warm patches. The ruins no longer whispered of forgotten pain—they felt... peaceful. For the first time in what felt like forever, Elena heard birdsong. She took a step forward, her boots crunching over soft earth, and looked around with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Was this always here?” she whispered. Ember followed close behind, her brows furrowed. “No. No, this—this place was dead. We saw it.” Elena let out a shaky breath. “So why does it look alive now?” They moved in silence for a few moments, stepping over roots and cracked stone swallowed by nature’s gentle reclaiming. It was almost too perfect. Too dreamlike. And yet… it felt like they were finally being allowed to breathe. Ember looked at Elena, her expression distant. “That voice in there… Zalim. Do you think it was really him? Or just... a memory of him?” “I don’t know,” Elena said honestly, sitting down on a stone partially buried in moss. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “But it felt like he knew us. Like he was still watching.” Ember folded her arms, unsettled. “And the old man? He disappeared like smoke. Not a sound. Not a footprint.” “Maybe he was never alive to begin with,” Elena said. “Maybe he was something tied to this place. To Zalim. Like a ghost with a purpose.” Ember gave a slow nod, then quietly walked ahead and sank into the grass, lying on her back, arms spread wide, eyes closed. “I still feel the stone,” she murmured. “Even now. I can feel it humming.” Elena turned to look at her, something soft brushing against her chest. Seeing Ember lying there, vulnerable, calm... it felt strange. The danger was supposedly gone, but her heart wouldn’t settle. And then it happened. Elena blinked. Once. The field glitched. The sky cracked like a mirror. Grass turned to ash. Sunlight dissolved into fire. She stumbled backward, gasping, and when she looked up again, it was no longer Ember lying peacefully on the ground. It was someone—something—else. A dark, fiery silhouette, cloaked in smoke and embers. The shape of Ember was still there, but twisted, her hair lifted unnaturally in the wind, her eyes glowing like burning coals. The figure stood slowly from the grass, rising with a weight that bent the world around her. Fire flickered from her fingertips, and every step she took left scorched earth behind. Elena’s breath caught in her throat. Around them, ruins formed from nowhere—no longer peaceful and green, but jagged and broken, filled with shadowy figures battling with blades made of red light. Screams echoed. Fires raged. The ground cracked open in places, swallowing warriors whole. It was the war. The war—the one whispered about in stories and warnings. The war between those who believed in curses and those who denied them. Elena fell to her knees, clutching her head. The sounds were too loud. The images too sharp. She wanted to scream, but her voice was lost in the chaos. Then the fiery figure turned—and it was Ember. Her face the same, but carved in stone and shadow. Her mouth opened but no words came out. Only a sharp, echoing sound that shattered the air like glass. “Elena?” The scene shattered instantly. Like a painting dipped in water, the battlefield melted. The fire dissolved. And Ember was back, just Ember, running toward her, her face etched with concern. “Elena, are you okay?” Ember asked, reaching down and touching her shoulder. “Hey—look at me. You’re pale.” Elena gasped, sucking in air like she’d been drowning. She reached for Ember’s hand, but before their fingers could meet— Everything went black. When Elena opened her eyes again, the world had changed once more. She was lying on her back. No stone ruins. No altar. No Ember. Just grass. Trees. Sunlight. Birds singing. And silence. She sat up slowly, panic curling through her chest. “Ember?” No answer. “Elena,” she whispered to herself, trying to ground herself, “you’re okay. You’re okay.” But her voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else. She stood, turning in place, scanning the treeline, the horizon. No movement. No familiar red hair. No footprints in the grass. “Ember?” she called again, louder this time. Still nothing. Then—light. A soft glow, like moonlight in a bottle, appeared at the edge of the trees. It hovered, distant, almost curious. Then it pulsed—once, gently. And began to drift away. Elena took a cautious step toward it, unsure whether she was walking into safety or madness. But one thing was clear. Something had changed. And Ember was gone. ________________________________________ The ruins were no longer ruins. Elena stirred, her fingers brushing against soft, dew-laced grass. She blinked, expecting stone and dust and the choking scent of age—but instead, the air was fresh. Birds chirped overhead, and the warmth of sunlight touched her cheek like a whisper. She sat up slowly, breath catching in her throat. There were no broken walls now, no towering, crumbled structures. Just trees—tall and ancient, swaying gently—and endless stretches of green that had grown wild and beautiful. “Ember?” Her voice cracked as it left her lips. She turned, heart pounding. No one was there. She stood up quickly, scanning the horizon. “Ember!” she called again, this time louder, a note of panic beginning to rise. Nothing answered back—not a rustle, not a whisper, not a footstep. And then—light. A soft glow, just at the edge of the forest. It pulsed like a heartbeat, drawing her eyes to it. Elena hesitated. Her breath was short, her palms sweating. But something inside her—maybe the same thing that kept her moving when everything felt impossible—urged her forward. She followed it. The light drifted like mist, never touching the ground, always just a few paces ahead. It led her through a narrow trail lined with moss and quiet trees, deeper and deeper until the world felt like it had folded in on itself. Everything was hushed—almost sacred. Then it stopped. Elena came to a clearing where the light hovered midair, swirling in place like a spirit. It pulsed again, and then a voice—a voice that was neither male nor female, ancient and knowing—cut through the silence. “What do you believe of the sigils?” The question struck her like a stone. Elena’s lips parted, but no words came. The voice asked again, slower this time. “What do you believe of the cursed ones… and the tribes that cast them out?” Elena’s brow furrowed. She struggled to find an answer. “I... I don’t know. I thought I understood. The tribes feared them. Maybe with reason. But Ember—she’s kind. She’s not like what they say cursed ones are.” The light flared sharply, a searing white. “FOOL.” The clearing seemed to tremble at the word. “They were not cast out in fear, but in wisdom. They are born to shatter what was built. To bleed the roots of Iorph. To twist loyalty and love into weapons.” Elena flinched, fists clenching. “No. You’re wrong.” Her voice was low, shaking. “Ember’s not like that.” The light dimmed… and then flared again—only now, not white, but burning gold. And images flashed before Elena’s eyes. Ember, her fists smashing mirror after mirror. Her face twisted in fury. The flames behind her eyes. The way she had screamed at the darkness. Elena stumbled back, breath catching. “Stop it—stop—she was scared. She was angry. That doesn’t make her evil.” “She is fire.” The voice’s tone lowered, almost a growl. “And fire burns all it touches, even when it does not mean to. Do not confuse warmth for safety.” Elena’s jaw trembled. She stared into the light with brimming eyes. “But she’s good. She’s trying. Even when she’s scared. Even when she doesn’t have to.” A long pause. And then the voice shifted. Softer now. Calmer. “Then why not let her be the one?” Elena looked down. Her voice cracked. “Because she’s stronger than me.” The light floated closer. “Is she?” Elena didn’t answer. “You think strength is fury? That it is flame, or fists, or a voice that does not tremble?” Elena’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t even have a power. I’m not marked. I’m not cursed. I’m just… Elena.” “Exactly.” The light circled around her now. “You carry no mark, and yet you came here. You faced the spirits. You walked into a curse you could have run from. You stood beside the fire and never burned.” Elena’s eyes welled with frustration. “But I didn’t do anything. Ember—she’s the one who fights. She’s the one who gets angry and pushes forward. I—I hesitate. I question everything. I'm just someone trying to understand a world I was never meant to be part of.” The light moved again, floating just before her face. “You have courage. You question not because you are weak, but because you seek the truth. And that—that is your gift.” Elena blinked. “You were born not to fight the way others do, but to connect. You can feel what others refuse to feel. You see what lies between—between the tribes, between the cursed and the chosen. That is the power Iorph has forgotten.” She stared at the light, her breathing unsteady. The voice softened further. Almost... kind. “You can bind what is broken. You can see what others won’t. You are more than what you think you are, Elena. You are the voice that can reach all of Golust—not through fear, but through truth. Through compassion.” Elena looked down at her hands, then back up. “But I don’t know where to go. What to do.” The light flared one final time, and the trees around them rustled like they had taken a breath. “Then begin where no cursed soul can step. Where rage becomes madness, and only clarity survives.” “What place?” Elena asked, voice hoarse. “The Glinthur Hollow.” The name trembled the air. “It lies beyond the valley of Veyren, buried in silence. A place of memory and testing. No cursed one may enter… but you must. It will shape what you become.” Elena swallowed hard. Her chest felt tight—but in her heart, something stirred. Resolve. She didn’t know what she was becoming. But whatever it was, it had already begun. The warmth of the grass had vanished. Elena blinked her eyes open slowly, squinting against the pale grey light above. For a moment, everything was still—and then, a face came into view. Fiery red eyes, wide and uncertain, stared back into hers. “Elena?” Ember’s voice cracked a little. Not with worry—no, not Ember—but with something else. Something quieter. Something tangled. Elena tried to sit up, but her limbs felt heavy, like she’d been underwater. Ember didn’t reach for her, just shifted back onto her heels as if giving space she didn’t know if she should. “So,” Ember said, breath shallow, eyes flicking away from Elena’s face. “You’re alive.” The tone wasn’t sarcastic. Just... blunt. Defensive. Like she'd been preparing to say something else and switched at the last second. Elena didn’t meet her gaze. She looked to the side, where the grass had once been vibrant and green. Now it was just dull and damp, laced with fallen leaves. The light had gone. The trees had gone. Even the sky above was flat and grey again, like the magic had retreated into a deeper place. She barely whispered, “Yeah…” Silence stretched between them. Ember stood still, arms hanging loosely at her sides. She opened her mouth like she might say something—but Elena spoke first. “I know where we need to go,” she said, voice low. “It’s... across Veyren.” Ember’s expression twitched. Her mouth twisted into a sharp scoff. “Of course it is.” Elena’s brow furrowed, just a little. She glanced up at Ember. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ember stepped away from her, turning her back. She ran a hand through her hair with a frustrated shake of her head. “The Aeylers were planning to go to Veyren,” she muttered. “They said there might be something important beyond it. We should’ve just stuck with them. Maybe we wouldn’t have wasted all this time crawling through ruins.” There was something in her tone—too bitter, too tight. Elena sat up more fully, leaning on her elbows. “Is that what you think? That this was a waste?” “No,” Ember snapped, too quickly. She exhaled through her nose, then shrugged. “I just… maybe things would’ve been easier.” Elena was watching her closely now. “Is something bothering you?” “No,” Ember said immediately. Then, without warning, she picked up a rock—small, sharp-edged—and hurled it into the shadows. It clattered loudly off a stone pillar, nearly hitting a wide-eyed Snacks who had been hiding there for stars-knew-how-long, his ears flattened against his head. “Hey!” Elena turned toward the sound, then back to Ember. “That could’ve hit him.” Ember didn’t respond. She just crossed her arms and stared out at the dim forest beyond, jaw clenched, eyes burning. Not with fury—but with something more like conflict. Turmoil she wasn’t ready to name. Elena got to her feet and walked slowly over to her. She didn’t get too close, just close enough to make sure her voice would carry. “If something’s bothering you,” she said gently, “you can tell me.” Ember’s eyes flicked to the side, then away again. “It’s nothing.” “Ember—” “I said it’s nothing.” Her voice wasn’t raised. Just quiet and sharp, like a blade drawn without warning. Elena didn’t push further. She just stood there for a moment, waiting, then turned and knelt beside Snacks, checking him over gently. He was fine—just startled—but his eyes flicked between the two girls like he could sense it too. Something had shifted. And though neither of them said it, the same thought echoed in both their minds: The curse. The sigils. Elena thought of the way Ember had looked in her vision—her soul aflame, her eyes wild with shadow. She hadn’t told Ember what she saw. Not yet. How could she? What if Ember saw that as confirmation of everything the tribes said about her? And Ember—she thought of the mirrors. Of Elena’s silence when she asked about the voices. Of how the light had taken her and left Ember outside. Had the ruins shown her something? Did they trust her more? She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t angry at Elena. Not really. Just… tired. Confused. The kind of confused that felt dangerous. The sky above them deepened, pulling twilight across the ruined forest. The stillness was louder than before. They didn’t speak again that night. But something between them—something unspoken—was heavy in the air, waiting to rise. They moved in silence. No witty remarks. No questions. No teasing nudges. Just the quiet rustle of hands folding tent cloth, the muted crackle of the fire Ember started with a snap of her fingers, and the sound of Snacks pacing in slow, puzzled loops around the campsite. Even the Ki-Rin seemed to sense something was off. He sat quietly beside the fire, tail curling around his legs like a nervous child, occasionally glancing between the two girls as if waiting for someone to break the spell. Elena didn’t say anything. She helped Ember hammer the poles into the soft earth, eyes lowered, every movement mechanical and tired. The weight of everything that had happened today—visions, voices, the light, and Ember’s quiet rage—it pressed down on her shoulders like a second backpack she hadn’t agreed to carry. By the time the tent was up and the fire burned low, they sat across from each other with bowls of dried root stew and a bit of charred meat. It tasted bland tonight, no matter how many forest herbs Ember had thrown in. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t talk. The fire cracked. Snacks sneezed. Nothing. Eventually, Elena slipped into the tent first. She laid down on her bedroll and turned onto her side, facing the open flap of the tent. The fabric gently swayed in the wind, revealing a sky full of strange floating creatures—small jellyfish-like things with shimmering fins and tendrils of bioluminescent color, drifting lazily through the air. She stared at them for a long time. This was why she had come to the surface. For skies like this. For places like this. Not for arguments and ancient curses and old men crawling out of haunted ruins. Not to fall for someone only to find out that the world—no, the whole of Iorphian history—might be against them. She blinked slowly. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and soaked silently into the pillow. She didn’t wipe it away. On the other side of the tent, Ember lay wide awake, one arm thrown over her eyes. Her mind churned like a storm-tide—tossing memories around, spinning thoughts into sharp little fragments that scraped against each other. She thought of Elena staring at her strangely after the ruins. She thought of the way the sigil on her arm had burned when they entered the ancient stone. She thought—more than once—about smashing every mirror in that place. She’d done it without thinking. A fury had risen in her chest, and she hadn’t known what else to do. But what if Elena had seen something in her that she didn’t want to? Something wild. Something cursed. Something unlovable. Her eyes drifted to her sigil. Faintly glowing, still. A reminder. A mark. She glanced sideways through the flap of the tent. Elena lay there, still awake, watching the sky with eyes full of something Ember didn’t understand—longing, maybe. Or grief. Maybe both. She licked her lips. Then, voice quiet and a little broken, she said, “I’m glad the old Iorphs are gone.” Elena turned her head. Her voice was hoarse. “What?” “And I’m glad I’m cursed,” Ember added, the words half-muttered, half-serious, more bitter than she meant them. Elena sat up slightly, confused. “Why would you say something like that?” Ember shrugged, still lying down. She tried to sound casual, but it cracked at the edges. “Because if those old people who built this place were still alive, you’d probably be stuck in a stone hall somewhere—learning about sacred glyphs and element alignments or whatever.” Elena blinked. Ember smirked without humor. “You’d be a nerd.” “What?” Elena let out a stunned laugh. “That’s your logic?” “And because I’m cursed,” Ember continued, voice softening, “I dragged you out of that. I... saved you from becoming a dusty old scholar.” She rolled onto her side, eyes barely glancing up. “You should thank me.” Elena stared at her for a moment. That wasn’t a joke. Not really. It was Ember’s way of saying, I’m scared you don’t want me anymore. That maybe Elena was realizing what the tribes had always said—that cursed ones brought only chaos. Instead of answering right away, Elena pushed her blanket aside, crawled quietly across the tent, and lay down beside Ember. She slipped an arm around her, gently pulling her close. Ember stiffened for a second—just a second—then melted into the embrace like someone holding their breath for hours. She buried her face in Elena’s neck, the heat of her skin trembling slightly, like she’d been holding something in and was too tired to keep it anymore. “You don’t need to joke about being cursed,” Elena whispered. Ember didn’t say anything. “I don’t care what the sigils say. Or what the old Iorphs believed. You’re you.” Elena pulled her even closer, voice thick now. “Even if you are cursed. Even if they call you dangerous. I still like you.” Ember exhaled. Shakily. Then her arms wrapped around Elena tightly, fingers digging in just a little. As if to say, That’s all I wanted to hear. And for the first time that night, the silence between them wasn’t hollow or cold. It was full. Warm. And healing. They stayed like that for a long, long time. Morning sunlight filtered softly through the thin cloth of the tent, painting the fabric in warm golds and oranges. The gentle crackle of a fire outside mingled with the crisp sound of sizzling something—maybe roots, or those odd little fruits Elena liked to roast. The scent was faint but unmistakable: warm, nutty, slightly sweet. Ember shifted under the blanket, still half-asleep, her body instinctively curling into the heat she was nestled against. She smiled lazily, eyes still closed. Elena, of course. Always the early one. Always sneaking out of bed just to make her breakfast and not brag about it later. Ember leaned into the embrace, her nose brushing against something soft and furry— Again. And again. And again. “Ugh—Elena, quit it,” she grumbled, snapping her eyes open. Except… It wasn’t Elena. It was Snacks. The Ki-Rin blinked at her with wide innocent eyes, his long whiskers twitching as his snout bumped her nose once more. Ember yelped, flailing back, clutching her blanket to her chest. “Wh—what the hell—?!” Snacks gave a quiet chirp and padded off like nothing happened, tail swishing behind him smugly. Ember sat there in stunned silence for a moment, cheeks flushed—not from the cold. “Why the hell was I spooning the horse?!” And worse—why was she awake late?! She scrambled to her feet, grumbling and brushing leaves out of her hair. Elena never wakes up before me. What’s happening to the world. She tugged on her boots and stomped out of the tent, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand. Outside, Elena was sitting on a log near the fire, her back straight, hair a bit messy but face focused and awake. She had two maps spread out in front of her—one clearly weather-worn and wrinkled, the other newer, carefully inked with neat Ayeleric marks. “Don’t tell me you’re being a nerd again,” Ember muttered, standing behind her and squinting at the maps with a tired frown. Without looking up, Elena replied coolly, “Morning, Fire.” Ember froze. Her brow twitched. “…Fire?” she repeated, like the word personally offended her. Elena finally glanced up from her maps, eyes glinting with a subtle smile. “What? It suits you.” “You—” Ember pointed at her with a threatening finger. “Don’t name me.” “I’m not naming you,” Elena said, calmly rolling up one of the maps. “Just calling you what you are. Fiery. Volatile. Burned me a little last night with all that flailing.” “I wasn’t flailing, I was—!” Ember growled softly, cheeks red. She caught herself and forced her tone down with effort. “Forget it.” “See?” Elena teased, eyes narrowing. “See? There it is. The fire.” Ember groaned and plopped down beside her. “You’re impossible.” “I’m charming,” Elena corrected, now pointing at a section of the Ayeler map. “Also possibly lost.” Ember leaned over to peer at the parchment. “Is that Veyren?” “Yeah,” Elena nodded, tracing a faint trail with her finger. “We know the Aylers were heading this way… and from what that light told me, our destination—Glinthur Hollow—is somewhere across it. But it’s not on either of the maps.” “I always knew those maps were trash,” Ember said, arms crossed. Elena gave her a dry look. “Yes, thank you, Ember, cartographer of the year.” “Hey, I never claimed to know where I’m going,” Ember muttered. “That’s your department.” “Exactly. Which is why I’m trying to think,” Elena muttered, scanning the page again before sighing and standing up, brushing dust off her legs. She folded both maps and slipped them into her satchel. She looked down at Ember, her tone suddenly sharper. “Pack your things.” Ember raised a brow. “Excuse me?” “I’m going on a walk. I need to find a landmark or something—anything that’ll tell us how to get to Glinthur Hollow.” Elena was already pulling her cloak over her shoulders. “And you’re going to bring me my food when you’re done.” Ember blinked. “Wait—you’re just gonna order me around now?” “Yes,” Elena said with the same calm tone she’d used with the fire. “Also, I made you breakfast. Don’t let it burn.” And with that, she strode off, boots crunching on the dew-soaked grass, map in hand, cloak billowing slightly behind her. Ember stared after her. “…She really called me fire,” she muttered under her breath, cheeks still a little pink. Snacks nudged her again. Ember rolled her eyes and got up, starting to pack with exaggerated huffs. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring her stupid food.” Still… She couldn’t stop the small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Ember sat cross-legged by the low fire, chewing on the slightly overcooked breakfast with the kind of stubborn determination only she possessed. The edges of the roasted root were definitely burnt, blackened with bitter crisp, but it was warm, and it was made by Elena—and somehow, that made it more edible. “Could’ve flipped it once,” she muttered to herself between bites, but her tone was too soft to be truly annoyed. She took another bite and glanced toward the horizon. Elena’s figure was fading into the edge of the forest, her cloak catching flickers of sunlight that broke through the trees like shards of gold. She looked small from this distance. Too small. Ember frowned and chewed slower. “She better not get lost,” she said under her breath, and the fire crackled in agreement. Snacks lay curled beside her but lifted his head, sensing something in her tone. Ember ran a hand down his neck and sighed. “And she better not find a cliff to fall off of either…” She wasn’t sure when she started worrying this much. Maybe always. Elena walked briskly beneath the canopy, boots brushing against fallen leaves and early morning petals. The forest opened slightly the farther she went, and just ahead, a sloping stretch of land gave way to a meadow. She stepped forward and squinted against the sun. Aster Fields. It was supposed to be here. A long expanse of golden and violet blooms, the first stay-point for those traveling across Veyren’s edge. That’s what the old tales said. It should have appeared like a soft ocean of color rolling out in front of her. Instead, there was nothing. Just tall grass, a few patches of scattered flowers—none of them asters. No pathway. No obvious landmark. Elena bit her lip, walking a little farther, heart starting to sink. She glanced down at her map again, but it offered no further help. She turned the parchment upside down, then sideways, even checked if she was holding the right one. “Great,” she muttered. “So now I’m lost. Or it's hidden. Or it never existed at all.” She stood in silence for a few moments, then sighed and turned back. She couldn’t stay gone too long—Ember would worry, and worse, Ember would laugh if she didn’t find anything. That was unacceptable. By the time Elena returned to their makeshift camp near the ruins, Ember had packed everything exactly as instructed—tent folded, satchels organized, boots laced, weapons checked. She was sitting on a rock, looking at the distant trees, pretending not to glance every few seconds toward the forest. When she finally spotted Elena’s approach, her posture visibly eased. She didn’t smile, but a tiny flicker of something softened her jaw. “You took long,” she said casually. Elena didn’t answer immediately. She was still deciding what to say. Her eyes drifted down to Ember’s face. And there it was. A smile. Barely visible, tugging at the corner of her mouth—but it was real. Hidden. Tucked away behind feigned indifference. But Elena saw it. A smug grin slowly formed on her own face. Ember blinked. “What?” Elena tilted her head, hands behind her back like she was trying not to burst into a laugh. “Nothing.” “You’re looking at me like a Sainn goat who found a bucket of cream,” Ember accused. “What? Did you find the Aster Fields?” Elena opened her mouth. Closed it. Then forced a nod. “Yesh.” The lie came out with a cracked voice and immediate regret. Her smile twitched, and she looked away quickly, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Ember narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.” “No, I’m not.” “Why are you twitching then?” “I’m cold,” Elena lied again. She was definitely not cold. Ember stared at her suspiciously for another second but then handed her a wrapped bundle of food and Elena’s shoulder pack. “Here,” she said gruffly. “Eat on the way. You’re leading.” “Wait—what?” “I don’t want to be surrounded by these stupid ruins anymore,” Ember said, already slinging her own pack over her shoulder. “So if you’ve got a place, march.” “I mean… technically I have an idea of a place—” “March, nerd.” Elena let out a nervous laugh and began walking ahead, adjusting the bag on her shoulder, her mind racing in panic. She didn’t know where they were going. Not exactly. But she knew she’d have to figure it out very fast. “Hey, Fire,” Elena called back suddenly, not turning around. Ember flinched. “Stop calling me that.” “Can’t,” Elena said, grinning even though her heart was a mess. “It suits you.” “I will throw this food at your head,” Ember warned. But her voice held warmth. And she didn’t throw anything. They kept walking, the ruins disappearing behind them, and the uncertain road stretching wide and wild ahead.

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