Thea kept stealing glances at Wilder across the fire, at the stoic warrior she was slowly coming to know more deeply, more intricately. It was with a mixture of longing and regret that she savoured these moments with him, realising with a resounding grief that she would never come to know him as deeply as she wished to. Her hand drifted to her fate stone. The more she knew about Wilder Hawthorne, the harder she fell. And she would never know enough about him, would never have enough moments with him. There was not enough time – not for her.
