The first time I was here, Tessa was barely sixteen and I was thirteen. We’d snuck off the pack lands, chasing freedom. We ran straight into a rogue ambush—five of them, reeking of rot and desperation.
We fought, and by a stroke of luck, we managed to get away. Banged up and bleeding, we could go home, and the gas on Tessa's head meant she wouldn't be conscious with all the blood she was losing.
If we hadn’t stumbled onto Edward’s doorstep, I don't know what would have happened. He’d patched us up, no questions asked.
I thanked him by coming by every month or so and secretly delivering some of Emma's salves and tonics for his stores.
Now I am back. As broken as I was the day we met, only this time, most of the cuts can't be seen.
“Edward,” I call, voice straining against the tremors
