Page 24 of Wild Thorns

Eli was quiet for a long moment. The shadows had grown longer while we talked, the light fading to that particular shade of purple-pink that Louisiana seemed to specialize in. When he spoke, his voice was careful.

"We're a close family. Private. But please." The word caught, earnest and vulnerable in a way that didn't match his usual careful composure. "We want you to feel welcome."

It was the most emotion I'd heard in his voice. The please caught me off guard.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, and was surprised to find I meant it.

We walked in silence for a block. I found myself acutely aware of Eli's presence beside me, the steadiness of his step, the quiet focus of his attention. The way his head turned slightly toward sounds I could barely hear, orienting toward them the same way Callum did. The same way Dex Fontaine did. The same way all of them did.

"You're going to the festival," he said eventually.

"Jasper convinced me."

"He's good at that." Warmth in his voice when he talked about his brother. "He makes things easier."

"And you? What do you make things?"

He considered the question seriously, the way he seemed to consider everything. The way he gave weight to things other people would brush past.

"I make things understandable. Eventually. When people are ready to hear them."

"And Callum?"

Something shifted in Eli's expression. Tender, amused, maybe a little worried. "Callum makes things safe. Whether you want him to or not. It's who he is. He can't help it."

I thought about Callum's constant watchfulness. The way he seemed to track my movements without ever looking directly at me. The way he positioned himself, always, between me and anything that might be a threat. The way his eyes sometimes caught the light wrong, flashing gold for a fraction of a second before returning to dark brown.

"He barely speaks to me," I said.

"I know." Eli's voice was gentle. "That's not about you. It's about him. About what he's managing." Another careful word choice. "Give him time."

"Jasper said he'll be at the festival. That you'll all be there."

"We will." He glanced at me sideways. "Does that bother you?"

"Should it?"

"I don't know." His voice was careful. "You're very good at deflecting questions with other questions."

"Professional habit."

"No." He stopped walking, turning to face me. In the fading light, his eyes were very dark behind his glasses, the silver I'd glimpsed before gone entirely. "It's a survival skill. You learned it somewhere, from someone. And now you use it without thinking."

I felt exposed. Seen in a way that wasn't comfortable.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I do the same thing." He started walking again. "Recognizing defensive patterns in others is easier than recognizing them in yourself."

I wanted to ask what he was defending against. What had taught him to build walls, to deflect, to keep parts of himself hidden. But the question felt too intimate for the fading light and the quiet street and the strange, charged space between us.

Instead, I said: "You see a lot. More than most people."

"It's my job." A pause. "And my curse, sometimes. Seeing things clearly doesn't always make them easier to bear."

"What do you see when you look at me?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it. I felt my face heat up, grateful for the dim light.