Tyler’s POV
Back at camp, Lily’s eyes go straight to the shirt tied around my hips.
“That’s not clothing,” she says.
I’m barefoot, streaked with half-dried blood and mud. Ruby’s shirt is knotted crooked at my side, barely decent. My chest is bare, paste flaking where it’s dried.
“It kept him from flashing the trees,” Ruby says behind me. “Be grateful.”
She takes my chin, turns my head to check my neck, then moves to my ribs and shoulder. Everything stings. “You’re lucky,” she says.
I take a deep breath and instantly regret it. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Sit.”
I sit. She peels away the worst of the paste, checks for fresh blood, then wraps my ribs tight enough that every breath hurts for a different reason. Ruby stands near the cot, arms folded, tracking every move. Flecks of my blood
