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It had always been the two of them. Laurine knew Kamber better than she knew herself: she knew what it meant when he tapped his thumb and forefinger together while lost in thought, when he scrunched his face up when she made a suggestion, and when he swept his hair back from his brow so that it fell behind his shoulders in dark messy waves. They didn’t need to speak aloud to understand each other.
Ever since the encounter with the vampire, Kamber had been different. He spoke less. His eyes rarely crinkled at the edges. He often sat and stared at nothing. Laurine wasn’t surprised when she woke in the night to find him beside her stifling sobs. Laurine had fallen asleep lying back-to-back with Kamber, as she so often did, but now he sat with his back to her and face buried in both hands. His shoulders shook with each strangled breath.
Kamber started to move away. She placed a hand against his back. He looked back at her, eyes shining gold. They did that now. Laurine gripped his smooth cold hand, and he squeezed hers back as though it were the difference between life and death.
I’m sorry, his eyes said.
They held each other through the cold. When not racked with sobs his body was eerily still. There was no heartbeat any more, no breath falling softly against her cheek. Laurine squeezed him one final time. She pulled away, and they sat regarding each other in the dark.
No words passed between the pair. Each felt everything the other did. It had always been the two of them. That wasn’t about to change.