Nyx's hand still gripped Lucas's tightly, as though she feared that if she let go the last piece of hope she had would slip away with it.
Around them the camp moved slowly through the quiet of the evening. Soldiers walked between tents with lowered voices, and the glow of cooking fires flickered against armor and tired faces. Yet for that moment it felt as though the entire world had narrowed down to the space between the two of them.
Lucas looked down at her.
Her eyes were still wet from crying, but there was something else there now. It was fragile, trembling like a flame in the wind, but it was still there.
Hope.
And she had placed it on him.
For a moment Lucas did not speak.
Inside his chest he felt the weight of what she was asking. She was not asking for reassurance. She was not asking him to comfort her with empty words.
She was asking him to carry the last belief she had left.
Even if that belief rested on almost nothing.
He knew how dangerous that promise was.
