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Chapter Twenty-Six

It took nearly thirty minutes for her eyes to dry.

When she gathered the strength to lift her head from North's neck, she squinted blurrily. Sometime during the panic, she'd fallen to the earth, apparently taking North with her— judging from the lap she was sprawled across. The position made something hot creep up her chest, so instead of focusing on the warmth of his body against hers, she trailed her gaze over the over around them. Her sight was still muddled by tears and the lingering effects of grief, but there was a strange fluttering of light near North's chest that drew her focus.

As the strange fluctuation came into focus, the panic she'd nearly extinguished rushed back up her throat.

She tried to move off North's lap, almost frantic, "North—"

It was futile. Instead, North's calloused palm cupped the dip of her spine. One brown eye peeked open as he stared down at her, "It's fine, Sang." A resigned huff crept out of his chest as he followed her line of sight, "I got used to it."

The it in question seemed pleased by his answer. Slinky tendrils of golden energy crawled over his chest and down his arms, swirling like ink. The energy coalesced against his sternum, where their bodies connected, but it'd taken far more liberties with North's personal space than she felt comfortable with. As she watched, one sneaky tendril curled up his neck— tickling the fine strands of hair behind his ears before crawling up his jawline.

"You," words weren't coming easily, her tongue tied in worried anticipation, "You don't want me to move?"

"No, you need to rest," his eyes fell closed again as North tilted his head toward the dark sky above them, "I can deal with it. Your power seems to like me better than Raven anyway."

The man in question scoffed, his accent thicker than Sang remembered, "Do not be a cock, West."

When she gaped at him, Raven winked. It was an expression she'd grown familiar with, but there was a tired edge to his stature that weighed down his shoulders. Something shadowed curled in the depths of his focus and as she tried to peer deeper into his stare, he twisted his attention to the man beside him with something like shame. Silas grasped his shoulder, whispering something in the older man's ear before stepping back.

Owen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "The expression is cocky, Mr. Yevgeny."

He hadn't moved during her emotional tumble, still standing several paces behind Raven, and nearly tucked away in the shadows. That was the only thing that remained unaltered. Like Raven, there was an odd tinge of grief in the set of his shoulders and the hair he usually kept neat was wild, like a hand had been tugged through it one too many times.

"I said what I said," Raven merely waved him off, "It means the same."

It was weird, the way they were suddenly interacting without scorn. As she observed, Sang couldn't help but think she'd missed an important aspect of their conversation. It made her anxious to move— trying again to rise off North's lap. He didn't let her stand, but he did allow enough leeway for her to twist to face the rest of the men, "Are we— are we okay?"

It was a loaded question, but it needed answering all the same. The tension from their conversation still tainted her bones. There was still so much that had been left unsaid. It made her feel weary and world-worn, like she'd run several miles without pause.

This time, it was Silas who settled her, "We are," he took several steps forward before kneeling at North's feet to meet her stare, "The better question is are you okay?"

Was she? Searching deep into herself, Sang tried to put a word on her emotional state, but the only thing she found was fatigue. Opting instead to shrug, she offered, "As okay as I can be."