Page 49 of Unclench Me Softly

I shoot him a look. “Pop-Tarts is a colonial construct. These are ceremonial dual-aspect pastries.”

Asher looks visibly moved. “That makes so much sense.”

Seb picks up a pastry, stares at it for a long moment, then carefully bites into it like he’s tasting his past lives.

I try to sit like I haven’t just been emotionally sucker-punched by a box of pre-packaged sugar. My thighs are sticking to my robe, and I’m starting to think one of these men is going to ruin me, and the terrifying part is I don’t know which one.

Jax catches me looking at him. He doesn’t say anything. Just chews. Slow. Smirking like he knows exactly what I’m thinking and is absolutely not going to help me stop thinking it.

I clear my throat and press my palms together. “Once you finish your nourishment,” I say, “We’ll begin with our first exercise: crawling meditation. A return to innocence. To earth. To instinct.”

Miles blinks. “You’re going to make us crawl in the woods.”

“Yes,” I say, rising with all the authority of a woman held together by caffeine, delusion, and repressed attraction. “On all fours. Through nature. Silently. With purpose.”

There is a beat of silence.

Then Asher whispers, “Do we pick a spirit animal name first, or... after?”

I exhale slowly through my nose.

It’s fine.

I’m fine.

I am a guide. I am a vessel. I am not going to imagine what it would be like to crawl beside Jax Riot in the underbrush like we’re two mating forest demons on a dewy damp morning hunt for meaning.

I clutch my mug.

The tea tastes like lavender and chaos.

The trail to the forest is soft beneath our feet, sun slanting through the trees like golden judgment. I lead the way, head held high, robe fluttering behind me like the slightly stained cape of a woman desperately pretending this is going exactly to plan.

Behind me, the sound of shuffling feet and light banter drifts forward, plus the occasional knee pad squish, which is not as dignified as I hoped it would be during my moon ceremony planning phase.

“You know,” Jax says casually, “If we’re doing this cub thing for real, we probably should pick spirit animals. Gotta know what kind of emotionally wounded woodland creature we’re channeling, right?”

I glance back at him.

He’s walking like he owns the dirt beneath him, smug and loose-limbed, the very image of a man who is 90% inappropriate thoughts and 10% plot twist vulnerability. The worst part is... he’s not wrong.

Asher perks up instantly. “Oh my god yes, I was literally thinking about that during breakfast. I already have three top candidates based on my inner emotional terrain and childhood animal archetypes.”

Of course he does.

I sigh, but I’m already giving in. “Fine,” I say, spinning around dramatically. “Let’s do it.”

They all stop.

“Choose your cub,” I say, spreading my arms like I planned this moment on purpose and not just because Asher is vibrating with mystical enthusiasm. “Today, you crawl not as men, but as the innocent, pre-conditioned version of your spirit self. So choose wisely. Choose from your gut.”

Jax snorts. “This is the best fever dream I’ve ever had.”

Asher bounces slightly on the balls of his feet. “Okay, so I think I’m a fox cub. Because foxes are curious, emotionally intelligent, and have historically complicated relationships with human structures, which speaks to my personal journey with vulnerability and boundaries.”

I blink. “Sure.”

“Miles is a hawk,” Asher continues confidently. “Detached, hyper-observant, probably trying to solve the retreat in his head like a puzzle box.”

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