Page 182 of Where Broken Wings Fly

I glower at them both. “That was different. We’re heading for St David’s Pointe. It’s a safe route and we’ll be there before dark. Back off.”

“You know the route off by heart?”

“Yes, Kill. I’ve done it a thousand times.”

“Got your GPS tracker?”

I tap the keyring attached to the backpack’s strap. “Right here.”

“Veer even an inch off course and I’ll be marching up that fucking mountain to drag you back myself,” he threatens. “I mean it, Mi.”

“Fuck, Kill. Chill the hell out.”

Our bickering is cut off by Willow’s arrival. She lets herself into our cabin without knocking like usual, then freezes as her gaze darts between all three of us before ducking.

“Um, hey. Everything okay?”

Killian unfolds his arms like he wants to go to her but decides against it. She’s been struggling since the party and holding us at arm’s length while everything settles. Katie’s daily calls demanding more of her time have become a huge problem.

“Fine,” Killian grinds out. “Just going over some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” she repeats. “What are we, kids?”

“The mountains are a dangerous place. You both need to be careful.”

“Alright, Kill.” Zach lands a hand on his shoulder. “Enough.”

Killian huffs and storms outside, pausing to plant a kiss on Willow’s lips as he whispers goodbye. Shrugging, Zach pulls her into a hug, pecking the top of her head.

“Have fun, babe. Keep my idiot twin out of trouble and bring him home in one piece, preferably. I’m not quite ready for Killian to be my last remaining relative.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m an adult, you know.”

Zach sticks his tongue out. “News to me.”

“I’ll try my best.” Willow snickers. “Look after Arianna for me.”

“We have a night of Disney princess movies planned. She’ll be just fine.”

With another lingering kiss, Zach follows Killian outside, and the pair climb into his truck to resume their daily work. We watch them go and Willow sighs in relief.

“I thought Killian might actually lock me in here.”

“I’m sure it crossed his mind,” I half-joke.

“No doubt about that. Shall we go?”

Wrestling on the backpack, I take her hand in mine. She’s dressed in a long-sleeved white top and loose jeans, the cuffs rolled up to fit her worn brown walking boots. Her hair is pulled off her shoulders in a slick, high ponytail.

“I’m ready,” she announces.

“Let’s move.”

Together, we hike into the sunlit woodland behind the cabins that leads out of Briar Valley. There’s a secret route concealed by trees that avoids the town square. Neither of us wants to speak to another human being.

“Watch your step. It’s uphill from here.”

We stop at the base of St David’s point after an hour of climbing over smooth rock and huge, jungle-like tree roots. Briar Valley sprawls across the land between us, dotted with tiny ant people going about their business.

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