As the sun begins to rise, Eamon calls us to a halt. “We’ll stop here.”
That’s all he says. I frown, confused as to why none of the men begin to search for firewood or unpack their bags. Something is different about this camp.
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Carleon, but he just shrugs.
“I don’t think Eamon trusts me anymore,” he mutters and plops down on his pack. I follow suit, groaning under my breath as I work the kinks out of my calves. Already I can feel the frosty night air beginning to change. Soon, the sun will rise and with it the temperature. Up ahead, I can hear the clanging of pots and my stomach growls in appreciation. At least we will eat before we push on.
“We need to talk.”
I turn around to see Eamon standing beside a tree, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Carleon shoots me a quizzical look before he mutters an excuse and hurries off. Eamon comes around the side of the tree and shoves my pack out of the way. I watch and wait, but he neither moves to sit nor offers to help me stand.
“I’m all ears, although if I start snoring, just kick me.” I yawn, stretching my arms high over my head.
Eamon tucks away the flyaway strands around his eyes and then immediately shoves his hands back in his pockets. Sighing, I push up to my feet, ignoring the stern protests of my legs. “I assume you want to do this outside of earshot?”
He nods and turns without saying a word. I shake my head, tired of all of the mind games, and follow him. We walk for several minutes before he slows. I wait for him to turn and look at me, but he doesn’t. He continues to peer out into the rapidly brightening woods. Light greens, pale yellows, vivid oranges and reds bursts to life as the sun’s rays beam down onto the forest. Any other time I would have stopped to marvel, to notice every detail, but not today.
“Please tell me you aren’t going to make me guess what all of this is about.” I shift my weight, wincing at the needles that have begun to prick my calves. “My wounds are fine. Nothing to worry about there. I’m pretty sure Kohen has forgiven me for that rash joke, and Nixon is just as weird as usual. Bodhi… well, everyone has been complaining about his snoring so I don’t think you can really blame me for—”
“It’s time,” he whispers, cutting me off.
“Time?” I rub my hands down my sleeves, wondering for the hundredth time why Caldonians never made white uniforms. They would’ve blended so much better in snow and been cooler in the summer.
Eamon turns slowly, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. “This is the extraction point and the end of my mission.”
“Oh.” I wrap my arms about my waist, only vaguely aware that I hardly feel any pain from doing so. “When… when will they come for me?”
“Soon.” His gaze is riveted on the ground, as if the intricate tree root system weaving around our feet is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re saying good-bye?” This feels wrong and completely awkward. Why can’t he just give me a hug, a peck on the cheek, and say, “See you soon,” like most boyfriends would? Why does everything with him have to be such gloom and doom?
When he doesn’t respond, I take a step toward him, weighing his reaction. When there is none, I step again and again until I am only a couple feet from him. “I’ll be back in a few days. A week tops if I have to walk all that way again.” Inwardly, I’m praying to the God of Earth and whoever lives on Calisted that’s not the case.
I stretch out my hand and wait. Eamon’s sandy-blond curls shift as he lifts his head and stares at my hand. I begin to fidget when he doesn’t move, doesn’t react. Is he really going to make this harder than it should be?
His hand surges forward, clasping around my wrist and yanking me toward him. I stumble forward, slamming my chin into his chest. He winces but quickly steadies me as I regain my footing. I can see the softness in his eyes encroaching back in, stealing away the firm set of his lips and the hard line of his jaw.
I blink rapidly as I begin to see a year of bitterness and sorrow melt away from his face. The hand that rises to cup my cheek is gentle, his thumb lightly brushing over my skin as he searches my eyes. I can feel a yearning within him, making his fingers tremble as they press against my cheek.
His other hand slides around my waist, pressing against my spine, drawing me closer to him. I step forward and into his embrace. He feels warm and firm, but not with the rigidity I’ve come to know over the past few months.
I close my eyes and lean my forehead against his chest. He doesn’t speak. He simply holds me. A thousand unspoken apologies pass between us as I wind my arms around his back, clinging to him.