Page 45 of Run of Ruin

I glanced over at Thorne and Briar, both asleep, their breathing even and steady in the dark. I envied them. Carefully, quietly, I slipped out from under the thin blanket of our makeshift shelter. I didn’t go far. I wasn’t stupid, the Wilds might be calm now, but they could turn in an instant. Still, I needed space. Room to think. Room to breathe.

I switched off the camera strapped to my chest. Four hours a day. That was the rule, our one scrap of unsupervised time.

I wandered a few paces and found a fallen log. Perched on it, leaning back, I tipped my head toward the sky. It was clear tonight, dark and endless. No storm clouds, no heavy winds. Just a blanket of stars above us. Out here, with the trial pausedand the cameras off, the Wilds didn’t feel like the threat they were. They felt… still.

A rustle behind me snapped me back to reality.

I shot to my feet, my heart pounding as I reached instinctively for the nearest object.

But it was Thorne.

He stepped into view with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Easy, love,” he said, the edges of a grin playing on his face. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your brooding.”

I let out a breath, my muscles unclenching. “I wasn’t brooding.”

He shrugged. “Could have fooled me.”

I sat back down, and after a beat, he dropped onto the log beside me. I heard the softclickof his own camera shutting off, and a peculiar hush settled over us. The kind you only got when nobody was watching.

“You doing okay?” he asked, softer now, his voice carrying none of his usual teasing edge.

I hesitated, then admitted, “I’m worried about Ezra.”

“Yeah.” Thorne raked a hand through his hair. “If I hadn’t found Briar when I did, I’d be losing my mind too.” He glanced sideways at me. “You really care about him.”

It wasn’t a question. Just a quiet observation.

“I do,” I said, the words heavier than I expected them to be.

He huffed a humorless laugh. “A confession without a camera rolling. Take that, Praxis,” he muttered. His grin returned for a flicker, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

I tensed a little. Even with the general distaste for Praxis in Canyon, I wasn’t used to people talking about them like that. Not so plainly.

“You’re… very vocal about your feelings,” I said carefully, meaning it both as a compliment and a warning.

Thorne shrugged, his gaze returning to the stars. “Well, my Ma always said if you don’t speak your truth, someone else’ll write it for you. And trust me, Praxis has one hell of a pen.”

There was a somber twinge in his voice then, a note I recognized. The kind you didn’t learn unless you’d lost something you weren’t ready to lose.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmured.

His head turned, surprise flashing in his eyes. “How did you?—”

“Grief recognizes grief,” I whispered. “And Briar mentioned you two didn’t have anyone waiting back home.”

The quiet stretched between us. Thorne took a long, steadying breath, then let it out like a man who’d been holding it for years.

“She’s been gone almost ten,” he admitted.

I swallowed. “Seven for me.”

He reached out, gripped my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. No theatrics. No smirk. Just warmth.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Me too.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees and the distant hum of the Wilds. His thumb brushed against mine, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

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