Twenty-five – 08

[This post is from Thom’s point of view.]

He wouldn’t be that crazy. Thom closed his eyes for a second, wishing he didn’t feel like he was lying to himself. He—no. No, he wouldn’t.

Would he?

“When did they get in?”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Phelan’s voice. The other man looked as if he hadn’t slept well, eyes sunken and hair standing up in every possible direction. Thom’s brow furrowed for a moment, watching Phelan settle into a spot near the fire. Jacqueline was with him, scrubbing the sleep from her own eyes.

“The scouts?” Thordin crossed his arms, frowning at the fire. “Fifteen minutes. They’re checking in with Anselm and then they’ll be here and we’ll figure out what the hell we’re doing.”

Phelan nodded slowly. “Someone’s getting the others?”

Thordin nodded. “And Matt was helping the Hunt with their horses. Shouldn’t be long.”

Thom swallowed hard. Please don’t let him be foolish. Please.

“Do you want some coffee, Phelan?” Marin asked.

“I don’t know if it’s a matter of want,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I need it at this point.”

She laughed a little. “I’m pretty sure everyone does.”

She started pouring. Thom watched her, his throat oddly tight.

Whatever we come up with has to work. It has to. I will not lose her—I won’t lose any of them.

Not today and not tomorrow. Not soon. Someday, maybe. But not soon.

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