The glow died as fast as it had come, but Amara’s pulse hadn’t caught up yet. She closed her fist around the token, hiding it, though from what she wasn’t sure.
“What was that,” she breathed.
“Later,” Damian said, which was exactly the answer she’d stopped expecting anything different from. His eyes were fixed on the treeline, tracking the shape she’d seen. “Whoever that is, they’re not hiding well. Which means they want to be found.”
“Or it’s a trap.”
“Also possible.”
The shape resolved into a man stumbling out from between the trees, sandy hair disheveled, clothes torn like he’d been walking for days. He raised both hands the second he saw them.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he said, breathless. “I’m lost. Please.”
Damian didn’t lower his guard an inch. “Who are you?”
“Callan.”
