Walking quietly from heel to toe was fine at first, but after another hour of rolling my foot repeatedly, my muscles are fatigued. I stop when a cramp shoots through the arch of my foot suddenly.

"Sour suckers!" I drop to the packed ground and grab my foot, not knowing what else to do. "Ahh! Son of a sea snake!"

"What is your problem?" Luke casts me a look of blatant repulsion.

I know I probably look ridiculous writhing on the ground gripping my foot in pain, spewing tongue twisters, but I can't employ the effort to explain myself at the moment. So I just sit there in misery and wait for the pain to pass.

It doesn't.

I take off my shoe to help relieve some of the pressure, but the movement seems to trigger a new network of pain sensors and my toes separate in electrical response.

"Slippery serpents in syrup!" I quip, flailing uselessly. This is the longest cramp of my life, and definitely the most painful.

When Luke grips my foot, I nearly scream.

"Hold still," he commands. He cups my blistered heel in one hand and clasps the arch of my foot with the other. Slowly, he stretches my foot back and forth. I bite my tongue, suppressing my screams of agony and nonsense.

His fingers are forcing the muscle to move, pointing my toes to the sky, and then to the ground to work out the offending knot. Gradually, the spasms cease to a dull ache. Luke uses his thumb to rub circles in the soft flesh of my inner arch, massaging out the soreness. It's not until I begin to relax that I register how rough the skin on Luke's fingertips are.

Just as fast as the cramp began is the speed in which I become hyper-aware of our intimate interaction. And also the fact that my feet are super sweaty.

A crimson flush sweeps over me from head to bare toe, embarrassed for all the reasons.

"Better?" Luke asks. I nod and slowly pull my foot out of his grasp. My heart is beating so hard, I wonder if he can hear it.

"So are you going to tell me why you were uttering complete nonsense, or am I going to assume the heat is causing mental distress?"

I cringe, stuck between wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.

"I've always been a little clumsy," I begin, my blush receding only the slightest. "When I was little, I was quite accident prone. When I would get hurt, my mom would tell me to say tongue twisters."

Luke arches one eyebrow, and I can't help but smile at the absurdity of explaining myself to him.

"It's a distraction, like rubbing your elbow after hitting your funny bone. The brain prioritizes sensations. Like just now, saying tongue twisters works my brain in a way that distracts me from some of the pain."

Luke nods in acceptance. Or maybe he's just relieved and thankful for my sound mind. I wouldn't want to travel with a lunatic either.

Straightening, Luke surveys the area. "We'll stop here for lunch. You could use a break anyway," he says, digging through his pack. I want to argue that I'm fine for pride's sake, but my feet really do hurt. I can't help but remember how gentle his hands were on me, and my face ignites once more.

Slipping my shoe back on, I stand and attempt to dust off my shorts. There are little green spiky balls stuck to my clothes, and I have to pick them off one by one, which is annoying, because there are dozens. I'll have to pay more attention where I sit next time.

I pull out some of the dried fruit and nuts Sol packed for me and drink from my canteen. I hope Luke knows how to find water, because this one container certainly will not last us the entire trip.

Relying on him makes me feel weird. I know I'd be lost and starving without his guidance, but it's frustrating to feel so useless. He's a proficient hunter, navigator, forager, and who-knows-what else. I make a mental note to watch him closely and learn how to survive out here by myself, if needed. I wonder if he'll even let me ask a few questions.

And speaking of questions, one in particular has been nagging me since we left Keir.

"You and your father... you don't get along well, do you?" I inquire.

Luke briefly pauses his meal, and then resumes as if I hadn't spoken. I wasn't really expecting him to answer, but it was worth a shot. Still, I'm getting tired of being ignored.

"That wasn't the first time you refused orders, was it?" I press, vigilant on getting a rise out of him. Something about his dispassionate reaction encourages me to continue recklessly.

"Why didn't you want to bring me to Perseca?"

Luke finally looks up from his lunch, exasperated, and fixes me with his emerald stare.

"No offense, but I have more important things to do than bring some girl to the old city."

"Things like what?" I question, genuinely curious. "Your father seems to think this mission is pretty important."

He sighs. "My father and I disagree on many things."

I try to imagine Luke growing up in Keir. The heir to the throne, running through the narrow streets. No, a boy zipping through the forest, quick and quiet as lighting. A motherless child of a preoccupied father. A living tragedy.

Or a living miracle.

I watch Luke crack open nutshells with a pocketknife and decide that he's a little bit of both.

◊ ◊ ◊

Hours later, we've settled on a mild pace, careful not to over-exert my stamina when we come across a lone building. The foundations are made of a thick, gray stone, and the roof a lattice of clay shingles. It seems out of place, a sturdy structure abandoned in the middle of the forest like this.

"One of the safe houses," Luke explains, sensing my hesitancy. "We'll stay here for tonight." He scans the western sky. The sun is low, but it will still be a while before sunset.

"It's a bit early, but let's go ahead and set up camp." He sets his things inside the dusty building and begins to walk back into the woods. "I'll grab some firewood."

"Wait!" I call after he's only taken a few steps. This place is creepy in its desertion and there's no way I'm gonna stay in that hut alone for an extended amount of time.

"I want you to show me," I blurt, anything to get him to take me along. "I want to learn."

His eyebrows climb onto his forehead. That's right, Mr. Sassypants! I'm not just going to sit here as some deliverable human cargo.

Luke effortlessly composes his features, contemplating my request for a moment, then shrugs, gesturing for me to follow him. I let out a breath of relief.

Gathering firewood never seemed like it would be a complicated task. See a stick? Grab it. Good to go! Apparently, there's more to it, or so says Luke.

"What you're doing is fine, but you have to make sure they're not too damp," Luke says, discarding half of my supply of sticks. "Wet wood will never catch fire."

I frown at my sad little pile. How am I supposed to tell the difference? They all looked the same!

Luke snorts, and I look up to see him grinning at my displeasure.

"What? Are you laughing at me?" Embarrassed, I cross my arms over my abdomen and direct my frown at him.

"Hey, you wanted to help," his grin deepens, enjoying my blunder. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

"Try brushing off the first layer of leaves, there should be drier pieces underneath," Luke advises. "Don't worry about gathering big logs, I'll handle that. You focus on the kindling. Twigs, dry leaves, and loose bark." He holds his arm out toward me. "Nothing bigger than my wrist."

I nod, my eyes focused on the sinewy muscle roping his forearm. I admire the strength in those limbs for a beat, then my gaze travels up to his shoulder, and across his strong jaw before popping up to meet those forest eyes.

He blinks and I snap my gaze away, pivoting to search for firemaking materials.

Two armfuls of kindling later, I return to the shelter and find Luke digging in the fireplace.

"It's been months since anyone's been here," he offers, taking my load and stacking it under his thick, wooden logs. He pulls out a familiar reddish rock and I almost smack it out of his hand. How dare he dig through my bag!

Then I realize I never put my pack down, it's been on me the whole time. I slide my bedroll off my back and slip the pack off my shoulder, its weight a burden I don't realize until it is missing.

Luke flicks his knife across the rock and sparks leap out, landing on the crunchy leaves. It immediately catches. He gets low, his cheek nearly brushing the hearth, and blows gently on the smoldering leaves until the flames reach higher, igniting the bark and smaller twigs. Soon enough, the fire spreads to his steepled timber. He sits back on his heels, admiring his work.

I watch, amazed. Of course! Sol had given me flint earlier.

The warm crackles are a soothing remedy for my inner turbulence, my albatross from when I first heard the sirens in Market Circle. There is no other sound quite like a roaring fireplace to remind me of home.

Collapsing next to Luke on the dirty stone floor, my eyes flutter closed in memory. The gentle warmth of the flames brings me back to Winter in Herald as a child. Mom, Dad, and Rhett were with me as we celebrated Parting Day, the anniversary of the wall's completion. We all exchanged gifts and told history's stories in front of the fireplace, and I was ever happy. I can almost smell the sugar cookies dad would bake every year.

I open my eyes to see Luke's attention on me. His gaze travels along my arms propped up on my knees. I'm beginning to get used to our close proximity, but my breathing still picks up at just the thought of being within reach.

"You should be more careful," he says softly. My eyes trail after his to the scratches and scrapes peppering my limbs. All the firewood must have scuffed my skin, not to mention the countless bushes I shoved through today. At least my fingers were spared. I silently thank Vera for my calluses.

"It's fine, I have a first aid kit," I mumble, my lids slipping closed once more as the day finally wears on me.

I hear movement as Luke gets up. There's a bit of rustling and liquid pouring before he returns to my side just a moment later. I flinch when he lifts my hand, and crack an eye open.

"Anyone ever tell you that it's impolite to go through someone else's stuff?" I ask, peering at him sidelong. The look he returns me is dry as a desert, and I can't help but grin. He pulls a few items out of the first aid kit before gently dabbing a damp cloth across my forearm. I suck in a breath through my teeth. "That stings," I hiss, too exhausted to physically protest his assistance.

As before, his fingers are tender as they handle my injuries. After the filth is cleansed from the cuts, he applies a salve to the worst of the abrasions. I'm mesmerized by the care he takes to wrap them in gauze, sealing off infection.

"I don't know how the bandages will hold up in the heat tomorrow, but it will give your skin some time to heal tonight," he says, returning the kit to my pack. I lay back, not an ounce of care given to the dust bunnies burrowing a home in my hair.

"Thank you, Luke." My voice is soft, my fatigue spares no part of me. Still, I want him to know I'm grateful. I care.

He nods, the only acceptance he's willing to provide, and purses his lips as if he wants to say more. After a moment of silent debate, he rolls his shoulder and strides out the door.