Chapter 37 The Road Narrows
Lyanna
The storm had left the world raw.
Mud swallowed the road where wheels had carved deep ruts through the soaked earth. Broken branches littered the forest floor, and the sky still hung low and gray, heavy with the scent of rain that had not quite finished falling.
The caravan moved anyway.
It always did.
I stepped down carefully from Elias’s supply wagon, testing the weight on my injured leg before committing fully. Pain flared up my calf—sharp but familiar—and I kept my face neutral as I crossed the narrow stretch of churned mud toward the omega wagon.
No one offered a hand.
No one ever did.
The moment I pulled myself up into the back of the wagon, conversation stopped.
Not completely. Just enough.
The silence stretched half a breath too long before the murmurs returned, soft and deliberate, like someone turning the volume back up after a pause.
I sat on the rough wooden bench near the rear and pulled the edge of my cloak tighter around my shoulders.
Across from me, two omegas leaned close together, whispering behind cupped hands.
They didn’t bother lowering their voices very much.
“She was gone all night.”
“I know.”
A third voice joined, thin with curiosity.
“Did he call for her?”
I stared out past the wagon’s open back, watching the road behind us instead of acknowledging a single word.
Pretend not to hear.
Pretend not to care.
One of the omegas—dark-haired, round-faced—shifted closer to the others.
“Why her?” she muttered. “She barely even talks.”
Another scoffed quietly.
“Maybe that’s the appeal.”
A ripple of quiet laughter followed.
My fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt.
The first voice spoke again, softer this time but sharper.
“If the commander wanted someone warm in his tent, he could’ve chosen anyone.”
A pause.
Then, wistfully—
“I wouldn’t have said no.”
Something ugly twisted low in my chest.
I kept my eyes on the road.
Pretended I hadn’t heard them talk about wanting him.
Pretended the words didn’t scrape against my nerves like sandpaper.
Another omega leaned forward.
“Well?” she asked lightly. “Did he even touch you?”
I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
The wagon lurched forward as the caravan began to roll again, wheels grinding through wet earth.
Someone snorted when I didn’t answer.
“Look at her,” one of them murmured. “Silent as a stone.”
“Maybe she doesn’t remember.”
“Or maybe she doesn’t want to tell.”
Another laugh.
I forced my jaw to unclench.
Let them talk.
Let them imagine whatever they wanted.
It was easier than explaining that Elias had done nothing except give me shelter from the storm and a blanket thick enough to stop me from shivering all night.
Easier than admitting I still remembered the quiet warmth of the tent.
The scent of ginger.
And the steady presence of him only a few feet away.
The wagon creaked as it hit a deeper rut.
Outside, guards began moving with unusual urgency.
I noticed it immediately.
The caravan was reorganizing.
I watched through the slats of the wagon wall.
More scouts than usual rode ahead.
The wagons had tightened their spacing, wheels nearly overlapping tracks.
Guards rotated positions quickly, murmuring to one another as they passed.
Something had shifted.
They weren’t traveling like merchants anymore.
They were traveling like soldiers.
I frowned slightly.
The omegas noticed too, their whispers drifting toward the wagon opening as they tried to watch the movement outside.
“Why are they rushing?”
“Did something happen?”
“No idea.”
I said nothing.
But I paid attention.
The caravan usually stopped midmorning to water the horses.
Today it didn’t.
We pushed forward.
Faster.
A tension ran through the guards like a taut wire.
And then—
He passed by.
I felt him before I saw him.
Elias walked alongside the wagon, boots sinking slightly into the soft road as he moved with the long, deliberate stride of someone who didn’t waste energy.
He didn’t look toward the wagon.
Not once.
His expression stayed carved from stone as he spoke quietly to a passing scout.
The other omegas noticed immediately.
Their whispers sharpened.
“That’s him.”
“He’s closer than usual.”
I forced myself not to stare.
But when he came level with the back of the wagon—
Something dropped beside me.
A soft thud against the wooden bench.
I looked down.
A waterskin.
The leather was dark from rain.
And faintly—
The scent of ginger curled upward.
I blinked.
The wagon jolted over another rut.
My hand moved automatically, reaching for the waterskin before it could roll off the bench.
At the exact same moment—
Elias’s hand steadied it.
Our fingers nearly brushed.
Not quite.
Just close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
I looked up.
For the first time that morning, Elias glanced toward me.
Only briefly.
His eyes were calm, unreadable.
But he lifted one hand slightly.
Two simple signs.
Drink.
Then he stepped away.
Just like that.
No explanation.
No lingering glance.
No acknowledgement that he had done anything unusual at all.
He continued walking down the line of wagons, speaking to another guard without looking back.
Behind me, the whispering started again.
“Oh.”
“So that’s why.”
“Did you see that?”
I ignored them.
I lifted the waterskin slowly.
The leather was warm.
Still carrying the faint spice of ginger.
I took a sip.
The water was cool and clean.
And for reasons I refused to examine too closely, relief spread through my chest like sunlight through clouds.
Ridiculous.
I told myself it meant nothing.
He was responsible for the caravan.
I was cargo.
It was simple.
Practical.
Survival.
My chest tightened anyway.
The caravan pushed onward through the damp forest, wheels grinding steadily against the muddy road.
Hours passed.
No stops.
No rest.
Even the guards seemed uneasy now, their eyes scanning the tree line more often than usual.
I leaned slightly toward the open back of the wagon.
The road behind us curved gently through the trees, fading into gray mist where the storm clouds still clung to the hills.
Movement caught my eye.
Far off.
On the crest of a distant rise.
A rider.
Just a dark silhouette against the pale sky.
Watching.
I squinted slightly.
The figure didn’t move.
Didn’t approach.
Just sat there.
Still as a statue.
Then, after a long moment—
The rider turned their horse.
And disappeared over the hill.
I exhaled slowly.
Probably a scout.
Caravans used them all the time.
Still…
A strange unease prickled along the back of my neck.
I watched the empty ridge for another minute before leaning back against the wagon wall.
The road narrowed as the caravan wound deeper into the forest.
Mud sucked at the wheels.
Branches brushed the canvas covers.
Ahead of us, Elias spoke quietly with a pair of mounted scouts.
His posture had changed.
More rigid.
More alert.
Like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.
I didn’t know why.
But something in the air had shifted.
And though I couldn’t name the feeling exactly—
It made the road ahead seem darker than it had that morning.