The thunder wakes me.

I pry my eyes open to find my cheek pressed against a solid chest. I'm tangled in Brendan's arms and legs, completely wrapped around him. I lie absolutely still, trying to figure out a way to disentangle myself without waking him up. I shift a little, and he sighs in his sleep, his hand moving farther south on my back. I freeze at the sudden sparks shooting through my system and try to suppress my own whimper in response.

When my hand runs down his sculpted abs, it's as if it's moving on its own. I can't help it. He moves under my touch, almost leaning his body toward it. I glance down to where my hand is making small patterns on his stomach and smile.

"And here I thought you were afraid I'd take advantage of you,” the gruff voice rumbles under my ear, and I jump up in panic. I don't get far. Brendan catches me before I can get away, pulling me down until I'm leaning over his grinning face.

"If you wanted to touch, all you had to do was ask." I want to punch that arrogant smirk right off his face, but he's holding my wrists captive against his chest.

"I was—“

“Oh, I know what you were doing, zaichik. And if you'd like to continue …” He winks then, and I wretch my hand away, pushing myself to my knees.

"You're a pig."

"And you're adorable when you're mad."

I'm throwing mental daggers his way as I stand and right my clothes. He follows in suit, reaching for the blanket we were lying on. Another rumble of thunder shakes the air around us, and a rush of wind ruffles my hair. There's an odd presence in the air, as if we're being watched, and I look around but don't see anything.

“Here." Brendan hands me a fig bar from his backpack, brining my attention back to him. "Breakfast is served." He doesn't seem concerned, so maybe it's just the nerves.

I take the food offered gratefully, because any minute now my stomach will start the morning song of its people. But before I can dig in, a rumble comes from beneath our feet. I reach for the nearest tree, my heart jumping within my chest. Brendan stands still for a minute as the aftershocks of the tiny quake die out. As suddenly as it came, it's gone. I glance over at Brendan and find him watching me, waiting for me to lose control again, no doubt. But I'm fine. It's only an earthquake. He seems satisfied with my calm exterior and turns back to what he was doing.

Nibbling on my food, I watch Brendan pack up our stuff, scarfing down his own fig bar. When he's done, he nods in my direction and sets off toward where he hid his bike. I follow a bit slower behind, contemplating. We never did talk about what happened last night. How I turned the green grass into ashes, or why. I asked to lie down right away, seeking the comfort of sleep to push all these conflicting emotions away. I thought I would have a difficult time falling asleep, but as soon as I laid down on that blanket, I was out.

It doesn’t take a genius to see there is something that he's not telling me. Something that's guarding his words and actions when it comes to me. I want to demand answers, but then I’m afraid he’s going to demand the same. I’m not prepared for that.

"Ready to go?" Brendan asks when I meet him back on the road. He's secured his stuff to the bike and is standing next to it, waiting for me. Before I can answer, a noise catches my attention and I spin around, staring into the shadows of the forest.

"What is it?" Brendan is beside me in the blink of an eye.

"Do you hear that?" I ask, my hearing straining to understand the noise, before it comes again. "I hear— Jemma.”

Her voice becomes clear as soon as I say it, calling my name. There's movement in the leaves, and I'm pulled toward it before I can make a conscious decision to go.

"Calista. Don't." Brendan steps in front of me, but I can't take my eyes off the forest.

"She needs me." My own voice sounds far away to my ears. I hear my best friend calling to me, and I know she’s crying. Without a second thought, my whole body is being pulled toward where she is. I just need to get to her.

"No, Calista. Focus on me." He puts his hands on my shoulders and the contact seems to snap me out of the fog. I meet his concerned gaze, trying to disperse the cobwebs littering my mind. I still hear her voice, but now there's something different in it, a tone that's not quite right.

"Don't you hear her?" I whisper, not taking my eyes off Brendan. There's panic in Jemma's voice now, and I have to physically restrain myself from rushing off after her by wrapping my hands around Brendan’s arms. He doesn’t flinch at the harsh contact, not taking his eyes off of mine.

"No," he replies, keeping his body between me and the trees. "It's not Jemma. What you're hearing is a Leshy, and you have to fight against it. Push past the voice it wants you to hear and listen for the reality." I shake my head in denial, because it’s Jemma. It has to be Jemma. But he won't let up. What I said earlier is true: I do trust him. That’s why I’m keeping myself pinned to him. ”You can do it. Fight it."

There is a soft confidence in his words that pushes me over the edge. My hearing reaches out to the voice, but this time I look further. It's an automatic response I can't explain, but I don't stop to wonder. I keep going. When it becomes clear, I gasp.

"It's an old man."

Brendan visibly relaxes at my words before standing up straighter. Now that I've heard the old man's voice, the pull is no longer there. I look at Brendan questionably, waiting for him to explain.

"Let's get out of here before I divulge any other information,” he says, reaching for his helmet once more. I'm beyond ready to go.

"To see an old friend?" I ask a question I already know the answer to.

"To see an old friend."