His fingers found something. Small. Wrapped in foil.
A chocolate bar.
One of the emergency ones Helena had packed in his jacket weeks ago, back when they'd first arrived at Haven. He'd forgotten about it completely.
Evan pulled it out. The foil was crumpled, the chocolate inside clearly melted and re-solidified multiple times. But it was food.
"Here." He handed it to Anaya. "It's kind of gross. But it's something."
Her eyes went huge. "Chocolate!"
She tore open the wrapper and took a bite. The chocolate was indeed melted and weird, more of a thick paste than a solid bar. But Anaya didn't care. She ate it like it was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.
"Don't eat it all at once. You'll make yourself sick."
"But I'm so hungry!"
"I know. But trust me—if you eat too fast on an empty stomach, you'll throw up. Small bites."
She obeyed, taking smaller bites, savoring each one. Evan watched her, his own stomach cramping with hunger. When had he last eaten? Yesterday morning? Maybe?
Didn't matter. The chocolate was small. Barely enough for her, let alone both of them.
"Papa, don't you want some?"
"I'm fine. You eat it."
"But—"
"Anaya. Eat."
She finished the chocolate slowly, licking the wrapper to get every last bit. When she was done, she looked marginally better. Not satisfied—nowhere close—but at least the desperate edge of hunger had dulled slightly.
They walked.
Evan checked the sun's position again. Still southwest. They were heading in roughly the right direction.
Probably.
Maybe.
He had no idea, really. No landmarks. No way to verify. Just his gut instinct and desperation.
"River," Anaya whispered as they passed another stream. "Please help Papa find the way. Please—"
"Anaya, stop."
She looked up at him, surprised.
"Stop talking to the river. And the trees. And the rocks." Evan's voice came out harsher than he intended. "You're wasting energy."
"But what if they're listening? What if—"
"They're NOT listening!" The words burst out of him, sharp and frustrated. "It's just nature! Just water and wood and stone! They can't hear you! They can't help! You're just—" He caught himself, tried to soften his tone. "You're just tiring yourself out for nothing."
Anaya's face crumpled. "But I felt the river answer! Before! I know I did!"
"You were dehydrated. Seeing things." Evan pressed his good hand against his eyes, trying to push back the fever-fog. "Look, I know you want to help. I know you're trying. But right now, I need you to save your energy. Stop whispering to every plant we pass. Just walk. Okay?"
"But—"
"Please, Anaya. Just—" His voice cracked. "Just listen to me. For once."
Silence.
Anaya's amber eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. Her small jaw set in that stubborn way he recognized.
"Fine," she said quietly. "I'll stop."
They walked.
In silence now.
No more whispered prayers to trees. No more hands pressed against bark. No more gentle conversations with stones and flowers.
Just walking.
Evan told himself it was better this way. She needed to conserve energy. They both did. They couldn't afford distractions, couldn't afford—
But the silence felt wrong.
Heavy.
Like he'd broken something precious.
His shoulder throbbed. His fever climbed. His legs felt like they were made of lead, each step requiring conscious effort. The forest blurred around him, trees becoming indistinct shapes, the ground uneven and treacherous.
He stumbled.
Caught himself.
Kept walking.
Time passed. Minutes? Hours? Hard to tell. The sun continued its descent, the light taking on that golden quality of late afternoon.
They should have found the barrier by now.
Should have felt something. Seen something. Some sign they were close.
But there was nothing.
Just endless forest.
Just pain and exhaustion and growing fear that he'd led them in completely the wrong direction, that they'd miss the barrier shift, that Anaya would be stuck in human territory for another nine months, that Morrison would find them, that—
"Papa?"
Anaya's small voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.
"What?" It came out snappish. He didn't mean it to, but the fever and pain and frustration made everything sharp.
"You're walking crooked again."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're sick. Your face is all red and sweaty and you keep—"
"I said I'm FINE!" He stopped, turning to face her. "Can you just—just stop? Stop worrying about me, stop talking to trees, stop asking questions! I'm trying to get us there and I can't think with you constantly—"
He stopped.
Anaya was crying.
Silent tears streaming down her dirt-smudged face, her small body rigid, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"I'm trying to help," she whispered. "I'm just trying to help."
Guilt crashed over Evan like a physical wave.
"Anaya—"
"You're angry. Like wind. Mean wind that blows everything away." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "I know I'm being silly. I know trees don't really talk. But I just—I wanted to DO something. To help. Because you're hurt and it's my fault you got shot and—"
"It's not your fault—"
"It IS! Morrison was chasing us because of ME! You got hurt protecting ME! And I can't do anything to fix it! I can't make your shoulder better or find the barrier or—" Her voice broke completely. "I'm useless! I can't even help!"
"You're not useless."
"I AM! All I can do is slow you down and talk to stupid trees that don't answer and get chocolate on my face!" She was sobbing now, all her fear and exhaustion pouring out. "I'm sorry I'm not better! I'm sorry I can't help! I'm sorry—"
"Stop." Evan knelt down—his shoulder screaming in protest—and pulled her close with his good arm. "Stop, little light. You're not useless. You're—you're everything I could ever ask for."
He didn't know how to. How to explain that just having her here, just her presence, was what kept him moving when everything hurt. That her terrible attempts to help, her whispered conversations with nature, her stubborn hope—it was the only light in this nightmare.
So he held her while she cried.
Eventually, her sobs quieted to hiccups.
"I'm sorry I snapped," Evan said quietly. "I'm tired and hurting and scared we're lost. But that's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
"Your shoulder is my fault."
"My shoulder is Morrison's fault. For shooting me. Which he did because I chose to run with you instead of surrendering. My choice. My consequence." He pulled back enough to see her face. "You understand? This isn't on you."
She nodded, though she didn't look convinced.
They sat there for a moment, both exhausted, both scared.
"Papa?"
"Yeah?"
"Your anger—the mean wind—is it gone?"
Despite everything, Evan felt his mouth twitch. "Yeah, kid. The mean wind is gone."
"Good. Because mean wind Papa is scary."
"Regular Papa is pretty scary too."
"No you're not. You're just grumpy." She leaned against his good shoulder. "Papa?"
"Hmm?"
"Can I tell you something funny?"
"Sure."
"When you're angry, your left eye does this twitchy thing. Like a bunny." She demonstrated, scrunching her face up in an exaggerated wink. "Twitch twitch twitch."
"I do not look like a bunny."
"You totally do. Angry bunny Papa." She giggled weakly. "Maybe that should be in one of your terrible stories. The angry bunny who—"
"Okay, no. We're not doing angry bunny stories."
"Why not?"
"Because I have some dignity left."
"No you don't. You told a story about a dragon who ate soup."
"That dragon was sophisticated!"
"The dragon's name was Goo."
"A sophisticated name!"
Anaya was smiling now, the tears drying on her cheeks. She shifted, trying to make herself useful. "Here, let me check your shoulder. Maybe I can—"
"It's fine. Well, not fine. But as good as it's going to get without actual medical supplies."
"Does it hurt a lot?"
"Yeah. But I've had worse." A lie, but she didn't need to know that.
She studied his face, seeing through the lie but not calling him on it. Instead, she said: "When you get mean wind angry, it's because you're scared. Right?"
Smart kid. Too smart.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I'm scared we're lost. Scared we won't make it in time."
"Me too." She took his good hand. "But we'll figure it out. Together. Because that's what we do. That's what papa and daughter do."
They sat there as the afternoon light continued to fade.
Finally, Anaya said quietly: "Papa? Can we stop? Just for a little bit? I'm so tired. My feet hurt and my tummy's still empty and—" She yawned hugely. "Maybe we could search more tomorrow?"
Evan's heart clenched.
Tomorrow the barrier would be gone. Shifted to new coordinates. Nine months until the next crossing window.
Nine months of hiding. Running. Morrison hunting them. Hayes searching for Helena's network.
They couldn't stop.
But when he looked at Anaya—at her exhausted face, her drooping eyes, her small body swaying with fatigue—he couldn't force her to keep walking either.
"Two hours," he heard himself say. "We rest for two hours. Then we keep moving. Deal?"
"Deal." Relief flooded her face.
Evan found a spot where a massive oak had fallen, creating a natural shelter with its upturned roots. They crawled into the space beneath, out of sight, protected from the wind.
Anaya curled against his good side immediately, her eyes already closing.
"Papa?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Thank you for not being mean wind anymore."
"Thank you for making the mean wind go away."
She smiled sleepily. "That's what I do. I'm the nice wind. The good wind that blows the mean wind away."
"Yeah, kid. You are."
"Mm."
A pause. The kind of pause that meant she was working up to something.
"Can I tell you something? About your stories?"
Evan opened one eye. "If it's another review, I'm giving it a one-star rating. Very hurtful feedback process."
"No, it's not—" She shifted, tilting her head up to look at him. Her amber eyes were serious in the fading light. Thoughtful in a way that made her look older than she was. "It's something I figured out. A while ago. But I didn't know if I should say it."
Something in her voice made him pay attention. He turned his head to look at her properly. "What did you figure out?"
She was quiet for another moment, choosing her words with unusual care.
"The stories," she said finally. "Your terrible, bad, no-good stories."
"My masterpieces."
"Papa."
"Sorry. Continue."
She took a small breath. "I think... they were always about us. You and me." She watched his face carefully. "I didn't say anything because I thought maybe I was wrong. Or maybe you'd say I was being silly. But the more I listened, the more sure I got. And now we're here and—" She gestured vaguely at the forest, at the two of them tucked under a fallen tree with nowhere left to run. "Now I think you should know."
Evan said nothing. He wasn't sure he trusted his voice.