Perry smiled at Willow’s imitation of him. He didn’t think his voice was that deep. As she prattled on, he looked down at his own hand, flexing it. Remembering the feel of Aria’s fingers in his.

Did she hate him? Had she forgotten about him?

“What’s going on?” Reef asked quietly.

Perry shook his head. “Nothing.”

Reef watched him for a long moment. “Right,” he said, irritated, but as he rose to leave, his hand came down on Perry’s shoulder in a quick, reassuring grip.

Perry fought the urge to knock it away. Nothing was wrong. He was fine.

On his other side, Marron pretended not to notice. He had Vale’s old ledger open on the table to a diagram he’d made of the cave. When he turned the page, Perry saw a tally of food from a year ago, written in his brother’s hand. They’d thought they had so little in those days. They had less now. The stash of food Kirra had brought wouldn’t last forever, and Perry didn’t know how they’d replenish it.

Marron sensed him watching and looked up, a soft smile on his face. “Fine time to be Blood Lord, isn’t it?”

Perry swallowed. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t. He nodded. “It’d be worse without you here.”

Marron’s smile grew warmer. “You’ve assembled a good team, Perry.” He went back to the ledger, creating three lines, studying them, and then sighing. He closed the book. “I’m of no use. Might as well try to rest.” He tucked it under his arm and left.

His departure inspired the others. One by one people made their way out, until it was only Reef and Kirra, leaving together. Perry watched them go, his heart pounding for no reason that he could understand. Then he was finally alone. He drew the candle closer and played with the flame, his eyes blurring as he tested his threshold for pain, until it guttered and went out.

When he finally stepped outside, the air smelled ashy and carried the sting of Aether. It smelled of ruin. The sky churned dark and bright. Marbled and shifting. In hours, the storm would break, and the tribe would come flooding into the cookhouse for shelter.

Flea trotted over from across the clearing, his ears bouncing up and down. Perry knelt and scratched his neck. “Hey, fleabag. You watching over things for me?”

Flea panted at him. In a flash Perry remembered him the same way weeks ago, leaning against Aria’s leg. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by the urge to feel sharp and clear again. To get her out of his head.

He shot toward the beach trail, sprinting when Flea tore ahead, turning it into a race. Perry pushed himself and jumped off the last dune, thinking of nothing more than diving into the sea.

He landed on the soft sand and froze.