Nadia
Cole looks into the tent as well, his eyes moving over Shay as she checks in on a patient who we’ve been working with for days who refuses to look at her, his teeth bared as he determinedly stares at the tent’s ceiling.
“We’ll protect her,” he murmurs. “I can keep them in line.”
“And if you weren’t here?”
He shifts his eyes to me, frowning. “But I am here.”
I open my mouth to protest further, to truly lay into him for the fact that his father’s regime has let this anti-human and anti-woman sentiment fester up here in the south for at least twenty years, but my harangue is interrupted by headlights flashing through the darkened camp. Both Cole and I look immediately towards the light and I frown at the small jeep that pulls to the middle of our clearing. Its only occupant is the
