I woke to cold air and an empty bedroll.Mattias was gone. The space beside me was still warm, which meant he hadn't been gone long, but the tent felt bigger without him in it. Emptier.I sat up slowly, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. My dress was stiff with dried blood—some mine, most not—and my hair felt like it had been used to scrub a forest floor.Outside, voices drifted through the canvas. Normal camp sounds: metal on metal, someone giving orders, the crackle of a fire. No screaming. No accusations.Yet.I forced myself to stand, swaying slightly as blood rushed to my head. The bowl from last night sat where I'd left it, the stew congealed into something that looked even less appetizing than before.My stomach growled anyway.I picked at it with my fingers, too tired to care about dignity, when the tent flap suddenly ripped open.Davies stood there, the same young soldier from yesterday. His crossbow wasn't drawn, but his hand rested on it. Behind him, three other
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