Page 21 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

I look at Daeva, hoping for guidance. He sets his jaw, considering. “A small one,” he says. “We need warm water to clean her wound, and possibly to cook if we catch anything. Keep it low and smoky, easy to disguise.”

Ryn sets about gathering fallen branches while Silas rummages for kindling. Cole helps support Jenna to keep her from sinking into the damp ground. I join them for a moment, pressing the back of my hand to Jenna’s forehead. She feels a little cooler than yesterday—maybe the silverleaf is finally taking effect.

She opens her eyes, pupils still clouded by pain. “Calla,” she whispers, breath hitching. “Thanks…for not leaving me behind.”

A lump forms in my throat. “Don’t even say that. We’re not abandoning anyone.”

She gives a weak smile, then drifts back into semi-rest.

We work quickly. In under an hour, a small camp emerges from the wilderness. Ryn and Cole place branches in a rough lean-to shape, using the thick trunks to shelter us from prying eyes. Silas manages to coax a fire from damp kindling, though he curses under his breath whenever the wind threatens to snuff it out. Eventually, a tiny flame takes hold, sending slender threads of smoke into the evening sky.

Daeva remains on the perimeter, pacing like a sentinel. He steps lightly around the clearing’s edge, occasionally pausing to listen. I watch him from the corner of my eye as I kneel by the river, rinsing scraps of cloth that might serve as bandages. Steam from the boiled water rises behind me, swirling in the crisp air.

A pang of guilt nags at me for staring so openly, but I can’t help it. There’s a lethal grace in the way he carries himself, as though ready for battle at any moment. And then there’s that face—too handsome for any demon I’ve heard about in the old stories. The black markings curling across his collarbones and arms only heighten that uncanny beauty, a reminder that he’s not human anymore. But he was once, apparently. Perhaps that’s why he’s easier to talk to than I’d expect.

By the time twilight settles over the forest, we’ve eaten a meager meal of roots and wild mushrooms. No sign of fish or game. Still, we’re better off than we were in the fortress. I force myself to appreciate these small mercies.

Jenna dozes fitfully near the fire. Silas, Ryn, and Cole fall into an exhausted hush, occasionally trading quiet remarks about watch duty. They talk in subdued voices about rotating through the night. I volunteer for a shift, but Silas insists I rest first.

I nod absently, swirling a rag in the water to rinse it. My muscles ache with every movement, and the grime clinging to me makes my skin crawl. The orchard of bruises along my arms, the dried mud on my legs—I yearn for even a semblance of cleanliness.

A thought takes hold: the river is right here, and the night is dark enough that no one should notice if I slip away. My clothes are damp with sweat and dirt, and if I keep them on much longer, I’ll never feel truly clean.

I straighten, scanning the campsite. Silas and Ryn speak by the lean-to, voices low. Cole is half asleep, propped against a tree trunk. Daeva stands a little ways off, back turned, gazing out intothe moonlit darkness as if challenging it. No one seems to be paying attention to me.

Quietly, I gather a scrap of cloth that can serve as a makeshift towel. My heartbeat picks up for reasons I can’t entirely name—maybe fear of discovery, or maybe the idea of letting my guard down in a forest teeming with danger. But the craving to wash away this filth outweighs caution tonight.

I pad softly along the bank, heading upstream where the trees form a more private alcove. The moon filters through the branches, painting everything in silver. The water glistens, inviting. I do a quick, careful sweep of the area for any sign of watchers—no glowing eyes, no silhouettes lurking among the trunks.

Satisfied, I set the cloth on a stone and begin stripping off my tattered clothes. The night air caresses my skin, raising goosebumps, but I welcome the coolness. My body is a canvas of scars and bruises, each telling a story I’d rather forget. Still, I feel a small surge of relief at simply being uncovered, free from those rags that marked me as a slave.

I ease into the water. It’s cold enough to make me gasp, but I bite back any sound, lowering myself inch by inch until I’m submerged up to my collarbones. The current tugs gently at my ankles, as if urging me to drift away from the shore. For a moment, I let myself float, exhaling slowly. The silence wraps around me, and I feel almost at peace.

I shut my eyes, letting the current swirl around my legs, washing away dirt and dried blood. My heart still thrums from the knowledge that we’re not safe, but for these few minutes, I try to pretend I’m just a woman bathing in a moonlit river, not an escaped slave or a fugitive from House Vaerathis.

When I open my eyes again, I notice a faint movement near the bank—almost imperceptible, but enough to send a surge ofpanic through me. I freeze, half under the water, scanning the gloom. My breath catches in my throat.

Then I see him, Daeva, standing at the river’s edge, clearly as startled as I am. Moonlight dances over his pale hair, making it gleam like silver thread. His eyes lock on mine, widen for the briefest moment, and then flick down to the bare slope of my shoulders.

I stifle a gasp, sliding deeper into the water until only my head is above the surface, heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he hears it. Mortification prickles through me, but also a different sensation—something that warms my cheeks despite the cold.

“S-sorry,” he says, voice quiet, immediately turning away as if to grant me privacy. “I heard movement. I thought?—”

“It’s fine,” I manage, though my voice comes out strangled. The water laps at my chin, and I curl my arms around myself. “I was just… bathing.”

He stands with his back turned, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Heat flutters low in my belly. Intrude or not, he’s already seen more of me than any man ever has. My entire body hums with conflicting emotions. A small part of me has the urge to tell him to leave immediately, while another part wants to… I don’t know. Linger?

“It’s okay,” I force out, swallowing hard. “You can… just stay there.”

He hesitates. Then, very slowly, he angles his head, giving me a sliver of his profile. He’s definitely trying not to look directly at me. “There could be danger,” he murmurs. “I can keep watch.”

I should be annoyed at how easily he presumes a role of protector, but I can’t ignore the relief. If a stray elf or orc stumbled upon me like this, I’d be at a severe disadvantage. “Thank you,” I say, voice soft.

Silence falls, thick with tension. I half expect him to stride away, but he remains. The barest turn of his head suggests he’s glancing over his shoulder. My cheeks burn. The water’s cold, but I feel uncomfortably warm.

Summoning a bit of courage, I clear my throat. “I… I didn’t realize you’d follow me.”

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