Page 14 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

Time stretches. We pass trickling streams half choked with leaves. We maneuver around a fallen tree trunk that forms a precarious bridge over a stagnant pond. My stomach growls, reminding me we’ve had nothing but scraps in days.

At last, as dusk approaches, we come across a small clearing where a massive pine has fallen against two others, forming a sort of triangular shelter. Moss drapes the trunk, and the space underneath is dry.

“This should do for tonight,” Daeva says. He crouches and sets Jenna down carefully, bracing her head against a rise of roots.

Ryn and Cole begin gathering branches to form a makeshift barrier. Silas finds some relatively dry moss that might serve as bedding or tinder. I’m too tired to do anything but sink onto the spongy ground, arms wrapped around my knees.

I watch Daeva as he moves along the perimeter of the clearing, running his fingertips across the bark of various trees. He pauses, then presses a palm to the ground, eyes half-lidded in concentration.

“Are you…doing something magical?” I ask, voice rasping.

He glances at me. “I’m setting a ward, of sorts. It may mask our presence from casual scouts.”

Relief flutters in my chest. “Thank you,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

He stands, brushing pine needles from his hands. “Don’t thank me yet. It’s a weak ward, given my state. But it’s better than nothing.”

I swallow. “Your state?”

He gives me a long, inscrutable look. “I’m not at my full strength. I was in the mirror for a long time.”

I want to press him for details, but the lines of exhaustion etched in his face stop me. A heavy sadness weighs in his eyes. It reminds me of someone who’s been carrying grief for far too long.

Instead, I say quietly, “You should rest too. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Then he nods once and walks back toward Jenna, crouching to check her wound. I exhale shakily, leaning my head back against the pine trunk. My gaze drifts over the clearing. Silas and Cole finish stacking branches to block a clear line of sight from outside. The temperature is dropping, and clouds gather above, hinting at a storm.

Ryn returns from the boundary of the clearing, carrying a handful of mushrooms and a few scrawny roots. He eyes them warily. “Not sure if these are edible, but it’s all I could find.”

A spark of memory surfaces: stories my mother once told me about safe and poisonous forest foods. But it’s been so long, and the details are fuzzy. “I can’t say,” I admit. “We should test them carefully.”

Desperation claws at us. We’re starving, wounded, hunted, and our only ally is a being of unimaginable power who was imprisoned in a mirror. Yet there’s a certain dark relief in simply not being behind the walls of House Vaerathis. The open sky overhead—though threatening rain—feels like a blessing compared to those stone corridors.

The last rays of daylight fade, leaving us in a twilight gloom. No one dares start a fire in case it draws attention. We huddle in the partial shelter of the fallen pine. Silas tries to lighten the mood by mentioning how “at least we don’t have to scrub floors in the morning,” but it falls flat. Jenna moans in pain, clutching her shoulder. The rest of us exchange uneasy glances.

At length, Daeva rises. “I’ll do a quick sweep around. Stay here. Don’t wander.”

Without waiting for a reply, he slips into the darkness. His form melds with the shadows so completely that I blink, wondering if I imagined him. A hush falls among us.

When he’s gone, I sense the group breathe differently—some mix of relief and nervousness. Ryn edges closer, lowering his voice. “That demon… can we trust him?”

Cole bows his head. “We have no choice,” he mutters.

Silas speaks up, “He got us out, didn’t he? If it wasn’t for him, we’d be locked in chains or dead.”

Ryn’s jaw clenches. “Or maybe we’ll end up worse off with him. Demons aren’t exactly known for mercy.”

They all turn to me, as though I have answers. After all, I was the one who apparently summoned him from the catacombs. My stomach twists. “He saved us when he could’ve left us behind. He’s had plenty of chances to kill us if that’s what he wanted.”

Cole rubs his arms, as if warding off a chill. “Could be part of some bigger plan,” he says darkly.

I swallow. “Maybe. But for now, we’re safer with him than without.”

That’s all I can offer. A tense quiet hangs in the air. Eventually, exhaustion wins out, and we try to rest. I press myself against Silas for warmth, my eyes drifting shut despite the swirling fear in my mind.

Sometime later, I wake to the sound of distant thunder. My neck is stiff, and my side aches from lying on the uneven ground. Rain patters through the pine canopy, dripping onto my threadbare clothes. Jenna dozes fitfully, cheeks pale and clammy. Ryn snores softly, while Cole sits upright, blinking in the gloom.

A flicker of white catches my eye at the clearing’s edge: Daeva has returned. He stands at the perimeter, hair damp from the drizzle, arms folded. I shuffle toward him, feeling the soggy pine needles squish under my knees.

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