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From the moment they stepped through the portal back into the demon realm, Willow fought to keep her emotions in check.
The Isles were eerily silent, the air suffocating as their group surveyed the area where the portal left them. It was late, but not late enough to justify how deserted it was. There was no sign of life, nor a sign that anyone had been there recently.
Images from the Day of Unity flashed through her mind, sending a chill down her spine. Hundreds, if not thousands of witches, the magic draining from their bodies, jagged, glowing lines that radiated from sigils.
The Collector had stopped the draining spell, hadn’t they?
Willow took a deep, shuddering breath, blinking rapidly to try and stop the tears as they threatened to form. She needed to be strong for her friends, to make up for where she’d failed them earlier.
And as she glanced around at her friends, her eyes locked on Hunter, and the image of him, head propped in her lap, not moving, not breathing—dead—flashed through her mind. The memory felt like a lifetime ago.
How had it only been minutes prior?
As if sensing her thoughts, Gus grabbed ahold of her arm, clinging to her with such ferocity that she could feel him shaking. It was at times like these that she was reminded of how young Gus was.
How young all of them were, and yet here they were.
Willow gently freed herself from Gus’s grip, instead wrapping her arm tightly around his shoulder, allowing him to huddle in closer as they walked. Camila, Luz, and Amity had huddled at the front, Hunter just behind them. Willow decided to stay a few steps behind Hunter, eyes barely leaving him, the fear that something would happen in the seconds she took her eyes off him looming over her.
They couldn’t have walked for more than an hour before Camila decided they should rest for the night, stopping to set up shelter in one of the many abandoned homes they’d passed. There’d been enough rooms in the house for them to split into the same sleeping arrangements they’d had in the human realm, but nobody seemed too keen on separating from the group yet. Instead, they settled on pulling mattresses from beds and arranging them around the living room.
Willow found herself sandwiching Gus, Hunter on the opposite side, a queen and twin mattress shoved together to accommodate the three of them. A foot or so away was the other mattress they found, large enough for Luz and Amity. And despite how much Amity fought, claiming she would be more than fine on the couch, Camila settled herself across it. She was adamant that they had been the ones who’d fought (Willow watched as Hunter flinched at the reminder, a pang of sadness hitting her), and so they deserved to have the mattresses.
As they all tucked in for bed, though, Willow became very aware of one fact: she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
She knew she should be exhausted—she was exhausted. Her body ached and her eyelids had grown heavy. But every time she tried to close her eyes, all she could see was Hunter, lifeless in her arms.
Those minutes where he had been gone were agonizing, stretching on for what felt like forever, permanently etched into her frazzled mind.
Willow sat up, slowly, and squinted as she surveyed her friends. Once she was certain nobody had stirred, she felt around for where she’d set her glasses next to the mattress and made her way toward the front door of the house, taking caution to open and close the door as silently as possible.
She let out a sigh as she stepped into the cool night air of the Boiling Isles. As she stepped toward the porch railing, she felt the dam burst, a wave of emotions—anger, guilt, fear—rushing over her, threatening to pull her under. Willow choked on a sob, her hand instinctively rushing to cover her mouth.
She had failed, had been too weak to protect the people she loved.
Willow couldn’t remember the last time she felt so small.
Scrubbing at the white hot tears that had started to prick at her eyes, Willow tried to ignore the dark spots that had formed in her vision. She had held onto her feelings as long as she could; her friends needed someone to lean on, and she had clung to the opportunity, desperate to do something for them.
But she could only do so much when she was drowning herself.
“Willow?”
Her body seized as Hunter’s quiet, raspy voice reached her ears. She turned to face him, hoping the darkness would mask how much she was trembling. On instinct, her eyes scanned over Hunter as she did a mental checkup to make sure he was still breathing.
Still alive.
“Hunter,” she said, her voice cracking. “What are you doing up? Is everything alright?”
“I…” he faltered, and worry fluttered in Willow’s stomach. “Couldn’t sleep. But I saw you get up and I wanted to make sure you were… okay.”
Willow opened her mouth, ready to deflect, before letting a sigh escape her. She was tired of bottling things up, and she didn’t know if she was capable of shutting out her feelings again tonight. Instead, she gave Hunter a watery smile. “I know the feeling, I couldn’t sleep either. Wanna sit?”
He shuffled toward her as she sat—hugging her knees to her chest, back against the railing—and joined her on the ground. She let her head drop against his shoulder, eyes shutting as she listened to the sound of his breath, counting each inhale and exhale for a moment. Only when the wind picked up, hair that she was almost certain wasn’t hers brushing against her cheek, did she open her eyes again.
“I could cut your hair again, if you want,” she said softly, glancing up at Hunter. “I’m sure whoever lived here before has some scissors we could borrow.”
He let out a joyless laugh, tugging at his forelock, reminiscent of the way Flapjack would pull at it. “I don’t think that’s our biggest concern right now, captain.”
“Maybe not,” Willow hummed, and if she strained her ears hard enough, she could hear the pulse of his heart, another reminder that he was here with her. “But if it would help you feel better, I’m sure we could carve out some time.”
“And what about you?” Hunter tilted his head to look down at her, his eyes—brown eyes, another reminder of all they’d lost that night—meeting her own. “What would help you feel better?”
“I’m fine.” The words were out of her mouth quick—too quick to be believable if the way Hunter raised an eyebrow said anything. “Swear on the Titan, I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”
“Willow. Please?”
Her chest tightened, and if the way her eyes began to ache told her anything, Willow had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to keep her tears at bay for too long.
“I’ve been working so hard to get stronger, so I could protect everyone.” And once the first words were out, it was as if a floodgate opened, the feelings she had been keeping so close to her chest flowing out of her. “I thought I was getting stronger. I thought… I watched you die tonight. And I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t protect you, I couldn’t protect Flapjack.” She hiccuped, pulling away from Hunter, partially to look at him and partially so he wouldn’t feel how she had started to shake. “All I could do was watch. I just... held you in my lap, and watched you die, and I couldn’t do anything to protect you. And now every time I close my eyes, it’s all I can see.”
It was only once she finished speaking that a wave of clarity washed over her, a chill running up her spine at the realization that she had dumped all of this on Hunter.
Hunter, who had died earlier that night.
Hunter, who had lost his first and closest friend.
Her stomach churned at the thought, and she rushed to speak. “Oh Titan, you already have enough going on without worrying about my problems, I’m so sorry—”
“I’ve never once thought you weren’t strong,” he said, lifting his right hand and clenching it into a fist. “You’re one of the strongest witches I know. And you did do something—you helped protect everyone else. From Belos. That’s more important than m—”
“Don’t. Don’t say that.” Willow reached up to grab his hand, looping her fingers around his wrist, her thumb pressed firmly against his pulse point, a subtle reminder of what was real.
“Do you blame me?” Hunter changed the subject abruptly, his voice cracking as he squeezed his fist a little harder. “For not being able to stop Belos from hurting any of you? From hurting Flapjack?”
“Of course not,” she said truthfully. “You were possessed, there was nothing you could’ve done.”
“Do you think I’m weak? For not being able to protect him?”
Hunter’s words hung in the air between them, his message clear. Willow sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing the point back and forth, not right now. Not when they were both running on fumes, not when they were both so emotionally and physically battered. Willow settled back against his shoulder, keeping her fingers wrapped around his wrist.
“You can talk about it, you know?” she said softly. “I’ll always listen.”
“I miss him,” he mumbled after a moment. “I keep expecting to see him flying next to me or feel him on my shoulder, but… he’s gone.” Hunter’s free hand moved to rest on his chest, rubbing at the exact spot where Flapjack had laid. “It’s my fault he’s gone.”
Willow glanced up at him, just barely able to make out the tears that had started to fall down his cheeks. A million responses rattled through her brain—most of them along the lines of how it wasn’t his fault—before she finally settled on saying “Flapjack loved you so much. I don’t think anyone could’ve changed his mind, Hunter. Any one of us would’ve done the same.”
Hunter sniffed, his free hand wiping at his eyes. “I’m not worth the trouble.”
His voice was quiet. Willow had a feeling she wouldn’t have even heard it if she hadn’t been leaning against him. She pulled away so she could look at him fully, still keeping hold of his wrist.
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t—”
“I heard you.”
“Well,” he winced, his eyes dropping away from her. “You all have families. You have people waiting for you. I… had Flapjack, but—”
“I need you to understand,” she interrupted, “how important you are to me. To all of us. I was so scared when you died. Even now I can’t—get the image out of my head. I thought I lost you.”
At Hunter’s silence, she continued on.
“I’m glad you’re alive, I’m glad you’re here with me right now. Maybe that’s selfish, but I want to make sure you know that. And I think,” Willow untangled her hand from his wrist, moving to place it against his chest. “Flapjack is always going to be with you. Just maybe not in the way you’re used to.”
His pulse quickened under her touch as he gave her a sad smile. Hunter placed his hand over hers on his chest and met Willow’s gaze once again, an earnest look in his eyes. “I’m glad I’m here with you now, too,” he said after a moment of quiet contemplation. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not until we make Belos pay. And even after that—for Flapjack.”
It was then that the front door creaked open, revealing a bleary-eyed Camila. She squinted at the two of them, a flicker of worry crossing her face. “What are you two doing out here? Is everything okay?
“We’re fine, Camila,” Willow stood up, offering her hand to Hunter. “Neither of us could sleep, so we came out here to talk. Didn’t want to wake anyone up.”
Camila’s eyebrows knitted together as she took in the two teenagers, but if she noticed anything, she didn’t say. Instead, she motioned the two of them inside. “That was very thoughtful of you two, but we don’t know who’s out there. Come inside, at least.”
They followed Camila inside, settling back down on the mattresses. Willow placed her glasses down on the floor beside her, a whole new wave of exhaustion rushing over her. As her eyes fluttered closed, panic seized her, that same image of Hunter flashing through her mind again. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes shot open. Carefully, so as not to wake Gus, she peered over the sleeping boy to see Hunter watching her. Wordlessly, he moved his arm so that it was within her reach.
Willow wrapped her fingers around his wrist, similar to how she had outside, his steady pulse a comfort, a reminder that he was here.
That he wasn’t going anywhere.