Chapter 63: He Lied To Her

Ash’s message was short enough that Dove read it twice before trusting she had reached the end. He had returned to the Warren, removed Garran from his duties, and asked the road shelters to offer her protection. Nobody was to force her back or hand her over to the former deputy. Varek had added a short note: Ash had seen the locked gate himself, heard how Garran had threatened the men who objected, and begun packing to search for her.

The relay had carried that instruction south after Ash found Mara’s sealed copy and heard from Varek. The keeper explained which messenger had brought it. It was a different route from the courier who had carried Garran’s older notice, which explained why two pieces of paper could arrive hours apart and disagree so completely.

Dove checked the dates. Garran had sent his notice before Ash came back, and the storm had delayed both messages. She could follow that, even if she wanted to shove the older paper into the stove.

The keeper said Ash wanted her location. Dove read Varek’s note again. "Why is he looking for me anyway when he can barely stand being in a room with me?" "He finally gets rid of me and decides he wants me back? I’m not walking in circles because Ash can’t make up his mind."

Thorne stayed beside her while she thought. The room was warm, the gate was guarded, and the first message telling strangers to hold her had been answered by someone who could cancel it. She let that relief happen without turning it into forgiveness on Ash’s behalf.

Day Twenty-Seven brought four bags of sour gummy worms, with twelve normal coins for selling three. Six fresh Favor would unlock the twenty-five-coin camping coffee pot she had wanted for days. Dove accepted, washed with her daily pool water, and warned Sprout that if it offered another container she could not afford, she might start charging it rent in her head.

Thorne sat on the pad while she brushed her tail. He held the end away from the floor when she asked, and somehow managed to look devoted while assisting with what was essentially aggressive fluff management.

"You could help brush it instead of staring at my ass," she told him, passing back the brush. He set it aside to pull her between his knees and kiss her cheek, apparently proud of his choice. She had meant to open the shop, but his hands at her waist made that seem less urgent.

Then he kissed her.

His mouth was a brand of heat in the frigid air of the tunnel, and he didn’t just kiss her, he drank her in, like a man who’d been thirsty for years. One hand slid deep into her hair, fingers careful as they traced the base of one sensitive fox ear, and the other locked around the small of her back, lifting her onto her toes as though she were made of air. She made a soft, broken sound against his lips, and he answered by tilting her head back and taking the kiss deeper, slower, until her thoughts blurred and time lost all meaning.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to murmur against her mouth, "You taste like cinnamon."

"You’re ridiculous."

"You like it."

She didn’t argue. Couldn’t. His thumb stroked the line of her jaw as he kissed her again—not hungry this time, but certain. Deliberate. As though he were learning the shape of her sigh. She felt the heavy thud of his heart where her palm lay against his chest, beating a rhythm far stronger than any human’s.

He broke away again just long enough to look at her—really look—his gaze so open it stole the air from her lungs. He looked at her like she’d hung the moon in a sky that had forgotten how to shine.

"What?" she whispered.

"Nothing." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his touch surprisingly gentle for hands so large. "You’re just..."

"I’m just what?" She poked him lightly over the heart. "Spit it out. I’ve got a toothpaste shortage crisis brewing and you’re eating my afternoon."

"You’re just here," he said, as if it were a miracle.

Her throat tightened. "Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. I bruise like a peach and this tunnel’s got zero oxygen circulation. I could keel over any day now."

"Don’t joke about that."

"I’m always joking. It’s a defense mechanism. Look it up."

He kissed her again before she could say more—slow and deep and final, like he was sealing a promise neither of them dared speak aloud.

"Thorne."

"One more."

"You said three minutes."

"I lied."

And then his mouth was on hers again, and she stopped counting altogether.

The breakfast bell sent her looking for her boots, while his pleased reaction supplied six Favor and the daily mate extra. She called him terrible for business, and he looked so happy about it that she had to cover his smile with her hand before her own became embarrassing.

At the counter, three men traded canned peaches and a packet of clean sewing needles for the gummy worms. A fourth customer bought the final bag for a clean washcloth. Sprout paid the twelve-coin reward once, bringing her normal purse from twenty-two to thirty-four. She bought the coffee pot for twenty-five, leaving nine normal coins and one thousand seventy Favor. There was no leftover fee.

The customer gave his bag to the cubs’ carer, asking him to divide it for their group’s treat turn. The children were playing beneath the diner tables because the damaged room was still closed. Pip walked carefully between them, with his carer reminding him that the diner was not a racetrack. Tavin stayed at Oren’s table, keeping his answers brief after yesterday’s warning. She asked what they were building, and one boy explained that the chairs were a fortress against bad soup.

"Save me a spot if they put peas in dinner," Dove told him. "I’ll help defend it."

Their laughter brought Edrik’s gaze across the room again. He watched her let the older girl explain the fortress rules while a small beast cub slept against her knee. This time his expression looked less like doubt and more like a problem he had not yet decided how to solve.

The keeper passed him carrying cups. "You heard stories about a cruel woman," he said. "You’ve spent three days watching this one. At some point you’ll have to decide which deserves more of your attention."

Edrik did not answer immediately. Dove pretended she had not heard, because being publicly examined for kindness was exhausting even when she was passing.

Her coffee pot arrived during a private visit to the space. She also stored the newly traded washcloth, completing her daily storage task, then showed Thorne the pot. "Now all we need is coffee. Yes, I know I’ve done this backward. Let me be happy."

They used her new pot to heat drinking water over the outdoor stove. Thorne carried it inside while she brought the cups. Both remaining tea bags stayed in storage; she wanted cocoa, and tomorrow she intended to find somebody willing to trade for it.

When Thorne promised to guard her coffee pot, she had to put down her cup before she laughed. "You’re cute when you take me seriously, which is probably terrible for both of us."

They sat together at the end of the bench, her legs tucked across his lap while he warmed one hand around his cup. Passing men kept noticing. One sighed so loudly that she asked whether the hot water offended him, and he said the water was innocent, unlike certain panthers enjoying it.

Thorne kissed her hair instead of answering. Dove hid her smile in the cup and decided she could survive a little public jealousy if this was what caused it.

When they returned to their room, she wrote Ash a short reply. She confirmed she had reached safety, chosen Thorne, and intended to keep traveling toward Terminal. She did not name Milepost or offer an address where Ash could collect her. She asked what had happened to her stall and what protection his next promise would have that the first had lacked.

She folded the reply herself, checked that it said what she meant, and asked the keeper to read the destination back before sealing it. Being believed here had not made her careless about paper.

She did not promise to wait. Ash could start looking; that did not turn his search into an appointment she had to keep. The storm would decide when the road opened, and she would decide whether she used it.

The keeper sent the reply with the next relay packet. Later that afternoon, a patch of fence emerged through the blowing snow. Men went out in beast form to test the guide ropes, and the first report came back with a narrow stretch of service road passable again.

Edrik studied the route board while Thorne packed beside Dove. The bear put a finger on the direct northern road to Terminal, where the courier had just drawn a thick black cross.

"The bridge is down," he said. "If you’re still going north, you’ll need another way."