Night stacked itself on the ridge. Torches made small suns that didn't warm much. Wind combed the scrub and left it standing.
Laurel checked the pairs one last time. “Jori. Tansy."
“Here," they answered, like a hinge clicking.
Rhea nudged Laurel's arm with a bow-hand. “He's coming."
Laurel didn't turn. “I can hear Ben's shoes."
Ben's shoes arrived first, quiet and competent. Anderson came after, coat unbuttoned to the cold like he'd forgotten he had skin. He stopped at the line and didn't try to cross it.
“Laurel," he said.
“Alpha."
He looked at the sentries, at the new order that didn't need his permission to exist. “Serena spoke," he said. “She added the ridgeflower lie."
“I know," Laurel said.
“She wants to speak again," he added, voice tightening. “To you."
“No," Laurel said
