slid the striker against the stone circle. The fire lit his cheekbones with a warm yellow glow. Then he lit the kindling with no trace of hesitation.
This wasn’t his first time making a fire. “You go camping a lot?”
He bent on all fours and watched the flame take hold. He blew softly on the fire, and the wood caught.
“Often as a child.” He sat up. “Not as often as of late. My father and I would scout locations in case of a Savak attack.”
“Of course.” I sighed. These memories weren’t true, just a past planted to make the game more immersive.
Ryo sat next to me on a log, his focus on the flames. “I loved it. We’d catch fish in a stream, and at night we’d sleep under blankets like peasants. And as the stars woke, my father would tell me stories under the light of the moon.”
He cleared his throat and stared into the rippling flames.
Moon. Singular. How much of that memory was real?
He waggled his eyebrows. “Though it wasn’t this romantic.”
I shoved his shoulder with my own. “Two whole minutes as a human being. That’s a new record.”
“All hail the triumphant victor!” Grigfen shouted from the wood. He lifted a dead bird by its claws.
“Well done.” I left the blanket at Ryo’s side and took the bird from him.
Ick. I placed the bird, feathers and all, on the pan, poured some of the peach juice, sprinkled a few sprigs of pine into the pan, and shoved the thing in the fire.
The flames overtook the bird and the space filled with smoke. When the choking gray cleared, the bird looked like something Martha Stewart would serve for Thanksgiving. If only cooking was this easy in real life. My dad and I tried to make Thanksgiving dinner last year and we nearly burned the whole house down.
I used the blanket as a potholder around the handle and placed the cooked bird on a rock. The pan was barely warm. You’d think it would be burning hot, but crafting never made much logical sense. I pulled off a leg and took a bite.
That bird was the most delicious thing I’d ever had.
“Anyone care for a ghost story?” Grig asked.
I rolled my eyes. “You are so on brand it’s ridiculous.”
Ryo licked his fingers. “Yes, I’ve had quite my fill of ghosts for the time being.”
Grig laughed and then grabbed the other vulture leg and made his way to the other side of the fire. “So what I’m hearing is that you are looking for a ghost story.”
I sat back on the grass and offered the blanket to Ryo. He’d had the worst time of the game so far, and he needed comfort more than any of us.
His expression seemed guarded. “It’s all right, Dagney. This cloak is not only the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen, it also doubles as a wool blanket.”
Oh. I took the last bit of meat from the bone. Why would I be disappointed? I threw the bones in the fire.
Grig lit a sphere of ghostlight below his face like it was a flashlight. Dork.
“It is pitch-dark,” he said, “and you are likely to be eaten by a grue.”
I stood. “I’m going to sleep.” I scouted for a spot with the fewest number of stones and plucked the empty bag to use as a pillow.
“I think I’ll join you,” Ryo said as he crossed to the other side of the fire from me.
I punched the bag to make it softer and covered myself with the blanket.
“No stories this time, then,” Grig said. “That’s fine. My feelings aren’t hurt at all.”
“Grig,” Ryo said.
“No, no. You rest up. I’ll take first watch.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I napped on the horse. I’ll wake you if I get too puggled.”
Okay, if he was sure.
I lay my head back on the bag but didn’t close my eyes. The encroaching dawn had brightened the sky. The sunlight sent an unearthly red glow over everything it touched. A river of soft green grass waved in a gentle breeze. Each blade slightly different, each blade drawn with precision. How much time went into designing each blade of grass? How much time had Ms. Takagi spent on this game that was trying to kill us?
Grigfen hummed and Ryo …
Across the flickering fire, Ryo lay with his back to me. He didn’t make eyes I could ignore. He didn’t try to make a pass I would shut down. He slept as though I were just another teammate on