The next few days pass in disconnected scraps, the lines blurred by pain and exhaustion. Snatches of sleep are darkened by flitting dreams I can't quite recall. I wake up in a cold sweat after every one regardless.

At some point, the others pack up the camp and we return to the road. I couldn't say how long or how far we travel. All I remember is climbing onto the back of the black horse that brought us here and clinging on for dear life until I pass out again. I don't enjoy riding, especially not when every jolt sends spearing agony up my side, my legs nearly numb from the sheer effort of holding on.

Then again, it's better than walking. I can hardly take two steps without collapsing.

It doesn't take long for me to become aware of the way the other soldiers stare. When they might not have looked twice before, now they can't seem to tear away, as if transfixed. It's fear, as it always was, but not quite the same. They're not scared of me, not exactly. They watch as if they're worried every breath might be my last. They watch as if waiting for me to break.

I'm not sure which I hate more.

Perhaps it would trouble me less if I could pin all the blame on the dagger that Giulia threw, that now perches at my hip like a trophy, or even the healing cracks in my ribs. But I can't. The greater hurt is one they won't understand.

The days stretch into a week. We move again. The mountains shift. The pain in my side lessens, but the ache in my chest is eternal, piercing deeper. Nothing tempers it. In the evenings, when the others gather around their campfire, I sit alone in my tent. Too delicate, too different. Besides, the sight of fire only stirs at longing I can't afford to feel.

Sarielle visits frequently. Her presence helps, as it always has. But she can't be here endlessly, and she can fix nothing. As soon as she leaves, I'm just as broken as I was before.

"Nathan?"

My head lifts. I'm curled up on the ground at the edge of the tent, resting on my arm, failing to fall asleep. The intrusion provides an excuse to give up entirely. But I would have forfeited sleep anyway if only for a moment to speak with the person I hear behind the tent flap.

"Fiesi," I call back, my smile leaking into my voice. I've barely seen him since that day in the woods, the day he saved my life. With a wince, I push up into a sitting position, adjusting in time for him to tease back the material and slip inside.

It's growing darker outside, but the lantern positioned in my tent's centre illuminates him with ease. His eyes flash deep blue as they flick to me. Not harsh anymore, but still an unwanted shiver trickles down my spine, a memory laced with fear I can't cast away just yet. I force myself to ignore it.

"You're not wearing blue," I comment. His cloak might be considered a dusty sort of grey-blue, but it's nothing like his former vibrant attire. I notice he's opted for grey entirely. It doesn't seem unlike him to decline the symbolic white, and the golden crest of Oscensi's bird in flight. Over his shoulder, his spear's handle shines a dulled silver to match, lashed in place by a coil of cloth.

He sighs, glancing down at himself. "I know, right? It shouldn't be legal." Crossing the tent in a few hurried strides, he plops himself down next to me, leaning back. "Blame Sarie. She lost my cloak in Gefyr. I'm still waiting for her to buy me a new one as compensation."

I can't help but smile. I've missed this more than I realised. "Only Dalton calls her Sarie," I correct.

His eyes spark. "Oh, I know. That's why it annoys her."

A laugh bubbles from my lips. "You shouldn't annoy her. She's nice, really."

"To you, perhaps." His smile falls. "I would have come to see you sooner if they'd let me. Apparently, two attempted murders makes me rather untrustworthy."

I meet his eyes, searching them. They're Finlay's eyes, soft and bright and friendly. Not the piercing stab that I recall overtaking them that night on the cliffs, or just outside the cave, coupled with his flaming knife. They dart away when I try to look too long. He's unsure, debating in circles over his choices. I know that feeling.

"Can you trust me?" I ask. "No lies this time."

He runs his tongue over his lips. "No," he says, the word wavering so much it barely stands stable. "But I think I can learn to."

It's enough to melt the last trails of icy doubt. "Me too. I'd really like us to be friends again."

"Friends," he echoes, the edge of a laugh twined with his tone. "Sure. That would be nice." He draws a knee up to his chest, more focused on it than me. "I was expecting you to be at least a little angry."

I frown. Angry. Even in the depths of his betrayal, all I remember is the swirl of confusion and fear, the desperate will to escape any fleeting thought of him before it dragged me into memories too good to be true. The haunting knowledge that he was justified. Perhaps anger has crossed my mind, but now all I can feel is vague joy seeping back in, the contentment mixed with disbelief that comes with him sitting by my side once more.

"If you ever betray me again," I offer, "I'll be angry then. Now I'm just happy to have you back."

A wry smile creeps onto his face. "I think that's enough to keep me in line. I'm not sure I want to see you angry."

"No." Rage brushes too close to the feeling of letting loose flame, of the burst of its freedom, its rampage. "No, you don't." In an effort to shove back the thought's ache, I wrap my arms around my chest. Fiesi notices.

Carefully, he shifts towards me, his breath catching as he lays a hand just beneath the spot. An involuntary flinch jerks me away. His fingers curl inwards, hovering before me.

"You're struggling, aren't you?" he whispers, the lack of humour in his tone almost unsettling. "With not having your flame."

There's sympathy in his gaze. I've had more than enough of that these past few days. Gritting my teeth, I look down. "I'm fine."

His hand returns to his side, but not before I see the brief azure flicker, the leap of flame he forces to vanish. A cold pang slices through me. I shiver, conscious of the obvious nature of my lie.

"Nathan, you can talk to me," Fiesi tries. "I had to hide my flame in the Neyaibet army for nearly two years. I know what it--"

"You don't know," I snap. I catch myself, swallowing hard at the rise of burning venom in my throat. Perhaps I'm closer to anger than I realise. "I'm sorry. Just... Please don't pretend you understand. No-one really does."

He sits back, nodding. "Alright. I don't understand. Got it." His head tilts. "If you explain, I might be a little closer to understanding, though."

Explain. I pull my legs up against my chest, my arms unfolding, wrists resting on my knees. The binds meet with a jarring clink. I'm not sure this feeling is something I can put into words, but if he cares enough to ask, he deserves an answer. "Okay. I'll try." The memory of my flame's darkest desires, the echo of that buried deep in the dark void, rises to my tongue. "All my life, this... hunger has been with me. This desperate, gnawing, endless hunger. At least with my flame, it felt as if I could satisfy it, just by letting it burn. But now..." I hardly battle out a sigh. "Now it's trapped. And the hunger is worse, because it's insatiable. It doesn't burn. It festers, aches." My eyes screw shut for the moment. "It just hurts."

For a moment, there's silence, empty silence. Then his hand rests on my shoulder. It slides down until his arm wraps over my back, then the other, pulling me in, until I'm pressed up against Fiesi's chest. Everything tightens. I dare to open my eyes.

He grins at me, so close. "I do owe you a hug, right?"

A hug. I'm stiff under his grip, stunned. I can barely breathe until he realises me, allowing me to sit back, still aware of his warmth racing in tingling lines over my skin.

I've had bare seconds to recover before he snatches up my hand too, rubbing a thumb up my glove and across the smooth metal of the bind. His smile fades, his gaze turning sharper. "We'll find a way to remove those. You got that? We're in this together."

He's said that before. But this time, he means it. A lie couldn't be spoken with such force, wouldn't flood my lungs and climb up my throat until tears prick at my eyes. I don't care any longer. Throwing myself forward, I seize him this time, wrapping him in a second embrace, shivering as he returns the gesture. I nestle into his shoulder.

"Fiesi," I whisper, careful to keep my voice near silent so close to his ear. The emotion that cracks it is audible regardless. "Fiesi, promise me something."

He traces the top of my spine. "Of course."

I'm close to choking on my own happiness. I have to remind myself it can't last, that the mission we speak of is hardly honourable. We're talking about giving me access to a destructive power. I'm still not in control. I'm still dangerous. My flame will still kill, and the longer it spends imprisoned, the hungrier it will be when it breaks free.

"If anything goes wrong..." My voice trails away. Burying myself in his chest, I try again. "If I start to... to do things that aren't right, you have to promise you'll do what you were supposed to do."

He twitches against me. His hand freezes on my back.

"Promise you'll kill me," I plead.

Slowly, he draws back, grip slackening until we're apart again. A storm swirls behind his eyes, dark and fearful. "I... I can't--"

"Promise me." It comes out louder this time, harder, fierce. This wish is all I can be sure about. I need to be sure of its solution too. "I'd rather die than be the monster you thought I was. You're the only person here I trust to do it."

He tears a hand through his hair. "Wouldn't Sarie be more worthy of your trust?"

"She'd never do it." She's too kind for that, too protective, and even if she weren't, I wouldn't want to burden her with this task. I know Fiesi was willing to do it, once. If the stakes are high enough, I need to have faith that he will do it again. "Please. Promise me."

A tense moment drags by. Eventually, he dips his head. "Okay. Fine. I promise. But it won't come to that."

"I hope not." But I haven't solely held onto hope in a long time. I hold no control over the future, over what I might become. I've seen enough flickers of it to know the monster is real. The question is whether or not I can keep it submerged.

Fiesi sits back as if the exchange has exhausted him, staring downwards. His lips start moving soundlessly, but they stop partway through, as if biting back the silent words. Tugging at his cloak's clasp, he glances up at me. "You really are so very different to how I imagined you."

A brittle laugh escapes me. "That much I figured."

Flashing a smile, he shifts up against the edge of the tent. "I think you'd be different if you hadn't lost your memories," he says. "Not good different. I'm glad you don't remember."

I'm about to agree, but the words catch in my throat. There is a part of me that longs to know. After all, if I could remember, I'd be able to tell whether Harlow is lying. I'd know, just a little better, who to trust. I might know how exactly my flame darkened, its secrets, the cause behind its gnawing flow. That piece of me that's always been a blank space wouldn't be missing.

The thought track drags up another memory, more recent, but tainted with that untouchable past. I jerk straighter, twisting to face him. "Fiesi," I start, my voice dangling like an exploratory thread.

He must catch its end, for his head turns. "Yes?"

"Do you..." I pause, chewing at my tongue, unsure how to phrase the question. Short, pointed. Just say it. "Who is Shaula?"

He stiffens. The colour drains from his cheeks, his mouth hanging open, a startled sort of terror flooding his gaze. Haunted. I can't miss the sputtering flames that scramble up his arms, burning low but wild, spitting sparks.

On instinct, I shrink back, nails digging into the dirt. "I'm sorry," I manage. "But..." I shouldn't say any more, but curiosity writhes a storm within me, coupled with the agonising sensation of being so close to something. As if all I need to do is reach out, yet when I do, the answer slips between my fingers and is lost. "But it... she's a snake, isn't she? Or she looks like one."

My fingers flex. If only I could summon the snake from flame to show him. Then again, from the fear that shudders his long inhale, perhaps that wouldn't improve matters.

"I don't know," he says lowly, his voice tremoring. "But I..." He clenches his fist, and his flames steady. "Don't speak that name again. Please."

Forcing my tension to ease, I swallow hard, the extra questions lodging in my throat. Shaula. I want to speak it again. But I don't like seeing Fiesi scared, not really, not in this way. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"It's alright." A smile passes over his lips, a little too brief. After a moment, it reappears, cemented in place. He climbs to his feet. "I think it's time you went outside."

Pulling my knees in, I wrap my arms over them, shoving Shaula from my mind. "No thanks. I... I'm tired."

"We both know that's not the reason you're not out there." The smile quirks into a grin as he stretches out a hand. "Come on. They'd like to see you."

"They'll only stare." I itch at the cuffs of my gloves, nails not quite sliding underneath. "They... don't know what to say around me. I make things uncomfortable."

He shrugs. "I suppose you won't mind then if I initiate a snowball fight without you."

My head snaps up, buzzing eagerness dampened by reality. "But it's not..." I meet his eyes, see the twinkle there, and a slow smile crawls up my face. "It's snowing?" At his nod, I snatch up his hand, hauling myself upright. The ground sways. For once, I don't care. "Why didn't you say so right away?"

He laughs, releasing my hand to sling an arm around my shoulders. "Come on. I'm sure you'll want a rematch. See if you can beat me this time."

I level his gaze. "I won last time."

"Technicality," he mutters, prising back the flap. The twilight greets us, indigo skies frosted by clouds and dusted by stars in the spaces between. Snow descends in white streaks. It dances in swirling flurries between the tents, settling to cover them like mountain peaks, a fine sheet already formed on the ground. It parts around the weak fire crackling several paces away, where the others huddle, light playing over their white tunics.

They match the snow. As do I.

Even in the gloom, Sarielle draws my attention immediately. Rising from her crouch, she turns, casting us both a wave. Dalton offers a salute from beside her. Carlin mirrors it, grinning from where she stretches out on the ground.

Soft flakes land on my shoulders, dampen my hair. Fiesi nudges my side. "See? It's not so bad."

For a moment, it's all too easy to pretend nothing happened between us. I can ignore the wound in my side, wipe my mind clean of every death I've witnessed, every droplet of blood that has spilled because of me. The weight of the dagger at my belt fades away. Just for a moment, none of it matters.

I've never had a home, not one I can remember. But this might be the closest I've come. A friend at my side, more up ahead. No-one who truly hates me simply for what I can do. No need to shrink back when they draw too near.

"No," I say, tilting my head back to absorb the night's crisp chill. "Not bad at all."

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

And that's the last Nathan chapter. I can't quite believe how close I am to being done asdfjkdsks--

I promised a happy ending and I sort of delivered? We can't have our boy without a little angst :/ But there be fluff too. We have our full gang now. He have friends and a home *bulbacries*

Now you get one more bonus epilogue-but-not chapter and then I can have a heart attack because how--

- Pup