Page 90 of Scarlet Wars
I pressed a hand against Emma’s shoulder, signaling for her to stop. She obeyed without question, sinking down behind a cluster of boulders. I crouched beside her, muscles coiled, scanning the landscape ahead.
The others followed suit, their movements seamless, practiced. Even James—despite his obvious sulking at me being the one in charge—dropped low without protest.
The forest stretched before us, a perfect stage of silence. Too perfect. Even the wind had stilled, the usual rustling of branches absent, the mist hanging heavy over the land like it had been deliberately placed there.
I exhaled slowly, shifting enough to glance at Emma. Her gaze was locked forward, her fingers twitching slightly, the only sign of the anticipation thrumming beneath her otherwise perfectly composed exterior.
And then we waited.
Watched. Observed. In the miserable Canadian snow. My fingers were stiff, my knuckles felt like sandpaper, and I silently cursed the fact that translation was off the table.
Next to me, Emma breathed into her hands, rubbing them together in a futile attempt to fight off the chill. She shuddered, muttering under her breath, “I’m freezing my ass off.”
I glanced at her, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. “Well, that’s a shame. It’s a pretty nice ass.”
Emma rolled her eyes, but I didn’t miss the way her shoulders loosened slightly, the tension in her frame easing just a fraction.
The warmth of my teasing settled between us, a small flicker of something lighter in the cold.
She huffed, her breath curling in the frigid air. “Have I mentioned your flirting has the worst timing ever?”
I smirked. “Once or twice. But I wasn’t flirting.”
Emma arched a brow, disbelief practically radiating off her. “You commenting on my ass isn’t flirting?”
I shrugged. “Just an observation.”
“Right. And if I told you your arms look good in that jacket?”
“That would definitely be flirting.”
She scoffed, shaking her head, but I caught the slight tug at the corner of her lips.
A smug satisfaction settled deep in my chest, warming me far more than the useless friction of my hands ever could.
Then something occurred to me.
"You know you can heal yourself warm, right?" I murmured, glancing at her flushed cheeks, the slight tremor in her fingers. "Between your healing powers, and your invisible translation, you don’t have to be cold right now."
Her eyes snapped to mine, a flicker of surprise flashing across them. "I hadn’t even thought of that."
I let out a slow exhale, shaking my head slightly. "Thompson." I let my hand drop near hers, fingers barely brushing the back of her hand, a soft, fleeting touch, barely there, but intentional. A reminder.
"Don’t ever forget who you are."
Emma stilled, and for a heartbeat she didn’t move, didn’t speak, only stared, something unreadable sparking behind her eyes. Then, as if the truth had only now settled into her bones—she was the most powerful maga alive—she drew in a deep breath and nodded.
Warmth spread through me as she used her invisible healing haze on us both.
I forced my attention back to the upper reaches. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” She winked, then stared further ahead.
It had been hours.
We were spread wide across the clearing, the four of us forming a loose semicircle along the snow-packed ridge. James and I had taken the northern edge, crouched low behind the charred remains of a fallen pine.
“Have you heard anything from Stephen?” I mumbled, hoping James’s attempts had been more fruitful than mine.
