Page 16 of Misted

“Promise.” I don’t even know why I say the word, but I just do.

She jumps and holds out her pinkie. Oh, hell no. When I don’t do the same, she takes my hand in her softer, blistered one and does a pinkie swear.

“It’s a deal!”

I remove my hand fast, half because it’s childish, and half because I liked touching her more than I’m supposed to.

“I’m going to sleep for a bit.” She settles beside me, pulls her knees to her chest, and rests her head on top. Tremors flare down her arms as her eyes start fluttering closed.

I whisper, “I’m Hawk.”

I should’ve never made that promise back then. I should’ve got up and left. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t be plotting the demise of my life saviour decades from now.