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    Summary

    “You need to eat more than I do,” Jon insisted. “Please, Martin, just take it.” Brandishing a bag of trail mix. He could see how Martin’s eyes tracked it, subconscious and starved. But of course his mouth was set in a thin, firm line, and Jon knew he was fighting a losing battle.

    Martin grimaced at him, arms locked at his sides. “Yes, I do, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to eat at all.” They didn’t have time to argue—it was getting dark and they needed to get out of the half-burned town, find some sheltered clearing in which to light a fire before it got Dark—and Martin knew that just as well as he did. So it was a battle of wills, and Jon has always, always been worse at that particular contest. They wouldn’t find anything better in this shop, Jon was certain of that much, and he couldn’t remember the last time he saw Martin eat.

    “Fine. We’ll share, then,” he snapped, and he shoved the trail mix into his bag. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Martin smile.

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