Finally, we reach our makeshift shelter, and my ankle feels as though it has personally been cursed by the gods of pain and suffering.
Jasper puts me down on the ground with zero grace, like I'm nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Then, he crouches down to examine my injured ankle. His brows knit together as he gently prods the swelling.
I hiss. "Okay, ow. Maybe don't poke it like you're trying to find buried treasure?"
Jasper glares at me. "Maybe don't trip and faceplant next time?"
I gasp, feigning offense. "Okay, I did not faceplant. I tripped on a stupid rock—"
"—because, apparently, you were too busy shouting at me to watch where you were going." He cuts me off, smirking, and I want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face with a well-placed punch.
I fold my arms. "You know,
