Page 68 of Duskbound

But he didn't leave. He just walked silently beside me, his presence somehow steadier than before.

"Don't let them get to you," he said finally, his voice low. "I ignore them most of the time anyway."

The simplicity of his response, so devoid of judgment or pity, made something in my chest loosen just slightly as we walked back toward the mountain. But as I glanced up at it, I realized I didn’t want to go back to it either. To the confinement.

I stopped.

Aether’s eyes cut back to me, raising a pierced eyebrow.

“I’d rather—” I started, looking around desperately, “I don’t want to go back there yet.”

He turned fully then, crossing his arms, “and where do you want to go?”

I let out a gentle sigh as I realized I had no idea. But if he was willing to get me out of here—if that’s what he was offering with his question, I was going to take it.

“Can we just walk?” I asked.

Instead of answering, he simply examined me for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Finally, he moved further into the brush, in the opposite direction of the mountain. Before I knew it, he was turning to me, walking backward through the gnarled branches.

“So are you coming, or not?” he asked, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

I brushed the remnants of salty tears from my eyes and followed.

The forest was quiet save for the crunch of leaves beneath our boots. I welcomed the silence after the chaos at the fire, though my thoughts kept drifting back to their questions about Laryk. How they seemed incapable of understanding.

Aether's arm suddenly shot out across my chest, pulling me to a stop. I followed his gaze to the ground where rotting wooden spikes protruded from a concealed pit.

"Old trap," he said, guiding me around it. "The forest's full of them."

"You seem to be in your natural habitat out here." I remembered Vexa calling him a lumberjack, Rethlyn's mentions of his cabin. "It's surprising. You don't seem the rural type."

His eyebrow arched. "And what type do I seem?"

"Well, I've never seen a hunter with that much metal in his face."

A rare laugh escaped him, deep and rich. "The piercings are tradition. You'll learn about that eventually." His golden eyes sparked with amusement. "I wasn't aware appearances dictated who could prefer forests to fortresses."

"So you admit you're a recluse?"

"I prefer the term selective socializer."

"Selective socializer," I echoed. "Is that what you call hiding in the woods?"

"Says the woman who's currently hiding in the woods with me."

"I'm not hiding, I'm..." I searched for the right word. "Strategically avoiding conversation. And responsibility."

"Clearly that's working well for you." A dimple appeared as he navigated around a fallen log.

A comfortable silence fell between us as we walked deeper into the forest. The tension from earlier had dissolved into something relatively peaceful, considering. I found myself studying him when he wasn't looking—the way he moved through the trees with such familiarity.

"Watch your step," he said, pointing out another trap. "These get harder to spot the deeper we go."

"How many times have you fallen in one?"

"None." A hint of pride touched his voice. "Though Vexa managed to find the deepest one last spring."

He shook his head, as if recalling a memory.

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