A year later.
Morning wind swept across the savanna, carrying the dry, grassy smell.
I crouched by the off-road vehicle, got a smudge of grease on my thumb, and wiped it on my cargo pants.
The old wound on my left side had long faded. I'd rolled up my sleeves. My arms were sun-baked to a rough wheat color.
"Drink."
Leon handed me the thermos.
I took a sip. Milk, no sugar.
"Good memory."
He squatted on the other side. "You mentioned it once—you don't like sweet things. I remember."
Right then, a mud-splattered off-road vehicle pulled up at the camp gate. The door pushed open, and Arthur stepped out.
He'd lost a lot of weight. His shirt clung to him, wrinkled, and dark stubble covered his jaw.
He got out and his eyes locked straight onto me.
"Chloe."
I said nothing.
"Come back
