Tuva sat across from him, listening with that quiet intensity. When the laughter died she spoke softly. "My father used to say the wild doesn't care about titles. It tests what you're made of. You pass more often than you fail, Thorne."
He met her eyes over the flames. Something shifted between them, small but undeniable. Not love at first sight or destined nonsense. Just two people who had fought together and come out breathing. He liked the way she called him on his shit without flinching.
Later, when the others bedded down, Thorne sat with his back against a rock, ribs wrapped tight. The ache reminded him of the cost of rushing in. He'd do it again tomorrow if needed. That was the problem and the strength.
Tuva joined him, offering a fresh wrap for his side. "You should rest."
"I will. Eventually." He accepted the help, their fingers brushing. "You didn't have to come out here. Stormborn could have sent someone else."
