The tent was quiet except for the soft rustle of canvas and the low murmur of the wind outside.
Kyle sat cross-legged on the hard ground. Rubbing at his sore arms.
Every muscle throbbed with dull pain. The kind that came after a fight that lasted too long.
His shirt was stuck to his back with dried sweat, and the faint sting of half-healed cuts still pulsed beneath his sleeves.
But they were alive.
Barely.
The others had settled around the tent, each wrapped in their own silence.
Cassian leaned back against one of the support posts. His injured leg stretched out in front of him.
His chest rose and fell slowly, and he had a look on his face like he was listening to something far away.
Cedric sat with his sword laid flat across his lap. He wasn't moving much.
But his eyes stayed sharp, scanning the room now and then.
Serena stood near the flap, arms crossed. One foot tapping softly against the ground.
