EIGHTY-ONE | EMBERS

I balled my hands into fists, stuffed deep inside my pockets. I’d forgotten what the cold truly felt like: the shuddering, uncomfortable chill that bit at the tip of my nose and made the ends of my fingers ache. Yet still I relished in it, thinking with excitement of how pleasant the warmth of my bed and blankets would feel later. Perhaps I could have another shower when I got in; I could let the hot water stream down my skin, heating me from the outside in.

It was a luxury to feel the cold; so much so that I kept missing what Falmer was saying to me.

“You took the time to dig out a scarf?” He was tutting, his hands in his pockets out of habit rather than to keep them out of the bitter cold.

“You know me,” I teased, “I always want to look my best.”

“For school, maybe. But for a night-long patrol?” He raised one quizzical eyebrow.