Zuko stares down at the prisoner. He shouldn’t still be standing here. If the prisoner would just tell him the truth, this could all be over. Why did he have to be so stupidly stubborn?

  The sun is filtering through the trees, dappling the forest floor in light. But what Zuko is doing feels so dark. Still, it isn’t his fault. If the prisoner would just tell him the truth, tell him where the Airbenders are, then this would all be over. Instead, he just sits there, sagging at the base of the tree, his wrists lashed behind the trunk.

  Zuko strides in, grabs the prisoner’s collar, and hauls him halfway upright, the ropes yanking against his wrists. Zuko’s flame roars closer, close enough that the heat makes the Airbender’s eyes water. “I said,” Zuko snarls, “tell me where the other Airbenders are!”

  “There aren’t any! I’ve told you a million times,” the prisoner spits back, voice raw from thirst. “Are you deaf, or just desperate?”

  The words hit like a slap. How dare he!? Zuko thrusts the fire forward, far closer than he intended. A searing tongue of flame licks across Teorin’s shoulder before Zuko can pull it back.

  The prisoner jerks with a sharp hiss, teeth gritted against the pain. The ropes catch him as Zuko releases his grip. The smell of scorched cloth fills the clearing, and the boy leans hard against the tree, breath ragged.

  He hadn’t—he hadn’t meant—

  Still frozen, Zuko's fire gutters down to barely a wisp, his fist trembling. The smell of burned cloth hits something deep inside him. Something he hates.

  For a moment, silence stretches. The boy glares at him, face pale but eyes blazing. “You think you’re proving something by burning a tied-up prisoner?”

  Zuko’s jaw locks, flames flickering. No… Yes.

  “I’m not from your world, but we have people like you. People who manipulate heat, and I know that sort of scar,” Teorin says, lifting his head and eyes locking on Zuko’s face. His voice is low, almost hoarse.

  Zuko stiffens. The world seems to narrow to those few words.

  The boy doesn’t let up. “You know what it’s like to be burned.” He shakes his head, bitter. “And now you’re doing the same thing.”

  The fire in Zuko’s hand flickers, then dies completely. His jaw works, but no words come out. His hand curls tighter, but the fire won’t come. He can’t make it. Not after that look.

  Zuko wrenches his gaze away. His chest heaves once, sharp, before he forces it still. “You don’t know anything,” he mutters, voice rough.

  He shoves the prisoner back against the trunk, grabbing the rope where it loops around the tree. He yanks it hard, once, twice—each pull sharper than the last. The fibers groan as they bite deeper into the prisoner’s wrists. Zuko knots the slack short, messy and uneven. It shouldn’t be messy, but his hands won’t stop shaking.

  Who is this boy to say that to him? Yet when he glances at the boy’s shoulder—the burned fabric, the pink and probably blistered skin that lies underneath it—his stomach twists.

  This is right, he tells himself. It has to be right. He needs this, but somehow, he can’t bring himself to ask another question. He glares at the prisoner, but this time the boy doesn’t glare back. He just breathes hard, eyes scrunched shut.

  And that hurts more than any glare.

  By the second night, the search feels heavier. No tracks, no sign of Zuko or Teorin. No Cat. Just empty miles of Earth Kingdom forest.

  We sit around the fire, Appa rumbling soft in the background. Usually I’d fill the silence—a joke, a story, juggling something dumb—but tonight the words stick in my throat.

  I stare into the flames instead. The heat crawling over my arm isn’t the fire’s fault, but it feels the same. Memory sensations are starting to claw at me, melding together so that my skin feels itchy. I reach reflexively for Cat.

  He’s not there.

  Toph tilts her head. “You’re quiet. That’s weird.”

  Sokka leans forward, suspicious. “Finally out of jokes? Or are you hiding something?”

  I don’t answer. My chest feels tight, like if I open my mouth it’ll all spill out.

  “Lev,” Katara presses, her voice sharp with worry, “what’s wrong?”

  I snap before I can stop myself. “Maybe I’m just tired. Did you think of that?”

  The silence that follows is worse than shouting. Aang shifts, uneasy. Sokka stiffens. Toph’s mouth curls like she’s about to say something biting.

  But Katara doesn’t back down. “Tired doesn’t make you look like that.”

  I glare at the fire, jaw clenched. Every muscle in my body screams for contact, for grounding in reality, but there’s nothing. No Teorin. No family. No Cat. I shove my hands into the dirt just to feel something solid. “I said I’m fine.”

  Nobody believes me.

  The fire pops, sparks drifting up into the dark. I keep staring, too quiet, too still. The opposite of myself. Finally, once everyone else seems to be asleep, I push away from the campfire.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  The firelight fades behind me as I walk, further than I should. Just far enough that no one will hear me. The trees press close, the night air sharp, but I don’t care.

  I sink down against a trunk, bury my face in my hands. Not sobbing—I can’t let it out like that—just… leaking. Shaking. The kind of quiet crying where every breath hurts.

  Memories bite at me, sharp and jagged: fire, pain, hands that held me down. The burn on my arm won’t let me forget.

  I don’t hear her approach until a hand settles on my shoulder. I jerk like I’ve been struck, heart in my throat. My whole body recoils, instinct snapping faster than thought.

  “Lev!” Katara blurts, pulling her hand back, eyes wide.

  I force a laugh, thin and brittle. “Congratulations. You caught me crying. Please accept your prize: traumatized teenager.”

  But my voice shakes, and the itching across my skin won’t smother.

  Katara kneels beside me, steady. Not crowding, just there. “You don’t have to joke,” she says quietly. “It’s okay to cry.”

  I drag a sleeve across my face, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I do. Because if I don’t…” My voice cracks. I bite it down. “…then I’m just a mess in the woods.”

  Katara studies me, her expression soft but unyielding. She doesn’t press further, but she doesn’t leave either. Just sits with me. Close enough to feel her presence, but not touching.

  And that’s almost worse, but I can’t bring myself to ask for anything else.

  Teorin sits against the tree, just breathing. The sun is low now, but it almost feels like time doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all the same. Teorin wishes he could move. If he could just do something…

  Bursts. He was almost bored, would be if he wasn’t terrified he was going to die. The lack of anything to do just made it worse—let his thoughts spiral and twist, let him think about the throbbing pain in his shoulder, and the pressure against his wrists.

  His captor hasn’t questioned him since burning him. He’d disappeared into the trees, repacked supplies, tended the fire, anything but look at Teorin. Now he just sat on the other side of the camp, staring into the embers like they’d betray him if he blinked.

  Teorin flexes his fingers against the ropes, jaw tight. The silence presses heavy, heavier than shouting. He doesn’t know what to make of this boy anymore.

  He hates him. Hates that he’s here tied to a tree, and at the same time… he almost seems lost. Teorin hates that he almost pities him. He swallows, angry, but his throat is so dry the motion almost seems more like a scratching in his throat.

  Water. He needs water. Soon, or he’ll die.

  He tries to breathe, tries not to think about the fact that he’s totally at the mercy of someone who just burned him while tied. But… he needs water, and the boy had stopped as soon as he realized that Teorin was hurt.

  Teorin clenches his jaw. Finally, the silence breaks. “If you’re not an Airbender,” the boy says, voice low, “then what are you?”

  Teorin lets out a slow breath. “Told you. Just a traveler.”

  The boy’s head snaps up, golden eyes sharp. “Liar.” The word is harsh, but the fire doesn’t appear again in his palm. “There has to be somewhere. A clan. A camp. A teacher.”

  Teorin tilts his head, studying him through the shadows. “Does there really have to be? Or do you just need that to be true?”

  His captor’s shoulders stiffen, and he looks away, jaw locked, like if he meets Teorin’s eyes again the ground might split.

  “Answer the question,” the boy grinds out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

  Teorin leans back against the tree, the ropes biting deep. “You already decided I’m lying. Doesn’t matter what I say.”

  A bird calls in the woods. The boy flinches at the sound like anything beautiful at the moment hurts him. He shoves to his feet and stalks a few paces away, leaving Teorin alone in the small clearing.

  Teorin feels at the pressure in his core. He might have enough to break the ropes, but it will leave him empty and aching afterward, and he’s so dehydrated…

  Instead, he just rests his head against the tree staring up at the sky and trying to think about nothing.

  Finally, after what feels like forever, the boy trudges back, the canteen in his hands making a faint sloshing sound.

  Teorin tries to swallow, but the sound almost physically hurts. His throat is so dry, and his tongue feels like sandpaper. He’s starting to feel dizzy sometimes even sitting down.

  “Hey,” Teorin says softly.

  His captor’s head snaps back toward him. “What?” Sharp, defensive.

  “Water.” Teorin’s voice is hoarse now. He shifts against the ropes. “You don’t have to untie me. Just… water. Please.”

  The air seems to crackle between them. The boy doesn’t move. The silence stretches. His jaw works, teeth grinding like he can grind down the shame clawing up his throat. “No.”

  Teorin’s chest tightens, each breath rasping in his raw throat. Was he really going to die of thirst because of some stubborn, pride-sick boy?

  Teorin presses harder, desperation cracking through his calm for the first time. “Two days without. I can’t… I can’t answer questions if I’m dead. Please.” His voice breaks on the word.

  His captor glares. “Tell me where they are.”

  “I don’t have any information to give,” Teorin rasps. “The people like me all live in another dimension. Across a portal. That what you want to hear?”

  “Die of thirst then.”

  Panic bubbles up in Teorin’s chest. “I can’t give you what doesn’t exist.”

  A quiet meow cuts through the clearing. Both their heads snap up.

  From the treeline, a small tabby pads calmly into the clearing, tail high, eyes unbothered by the rope or tension. He strolls across the dirt, circles once, and curls up against Teorin’s side like he’s settling in for a nap.

  Teorin blinks down, stunned. “Cat?”

  Something inside Teorin cracks, and if he wasn’t so dehydrated, a tear might have rolled down his face.

  The boy’s eyes narrow. He studies the creature like it’s a trick, waiting for it to breathe fire or sprout claws, but nothing happens. Cat just purrs. “What is that?” His voice is sharp—half startle, half suspicion.

  Teorin exhales, a faint, hoarse laugh. “That’s… Lev’s.” His head tips back against the tree. “Figures he’d find me first.”

  Cat just kneads at Teorin’s side, utterly indifferent to the conversation. He yowls for pets.

  “Can’t pet you,” Teorin murmurs. “Go find Lev. He needs you.”

  Teorin’s stomach twists. If Cat was here, then Lev…

  Cascades, Lev must be falling apart.

  “Find Lev,” Teorin rasps at Cat again.

  Cat just blinks and refuses to move.

  Stupid cat. Couldn’t it ever listen? But at the same time, Teorin is grateful.

  For the first time, the boy’s mask slips, not from shame, but sheer confusion. “It followed you here?”

  Teorin’s lips twitch, humor faint under exhaustion. “Yeah. Guess we’re both terrible at staying lost.”

  Cat purrs again, and Teorin melts against the tree slightly.

  The boy watches, unsettled. “That thing is wrong.”

  “So, I’ve heard,” Teorin rasps.

  His captor’s eyes narrow, fire curling hot in his fist. “Maybe I should burn it. See if you’re still so calm when it’s screaming.”

  Teorin jerks, panic breaking completely through his defiance for the first time. “Don’t! Leave him. Please.”

  His heart pounds as he stares at the fire flickering in the boy’s palm. He’d almost broken this morning after burning Teorin. He wouldn’t… would he?

  What if he didn’t care? What if he saw Cat as practically a chicken? Just something to slaughter and eat. His death a necessity?

  Cat blinks up, unconcerned, purring against Teorin’s side. The boy’s jaw clenches.

  His captor’s fire hisses brighter, but his hand trembles. The words were easier than the act. His jaw locks, and he snaps the flame away with a violent flick.

  “Not worth the effort,” the boy says with a shrug that seems forced. Then he snatches up one of his blades, grip tightening until his knuckles go white. He stalks into the woods, disappearing into the trees. Cat stays, and Teorin feels his purr vibrate through him, the only comfort in the clearing.