The return journey to the outpost was tense. Every rustling leaf, every distant sound sent Selina’s pulse hammering in her ears. The weight of the satchel filled with medicine did little to comfort her. If Kiera didn’t survive, none of this would matter.
Zane walked beside her, unusually quiet. He carried the heavier pack, his grip tight, his posture rigid. He had barely spoken since they left Elira’s hut.
Selina didn’t press him. The night was too thick with tension. They were being watched—she could feel it.
They arrived just before nightfall, slipping through the half-crumbling stone walls of the ruined outpost. The fire still burned low, casting flickering shadows against the cracked stone.
Owen was already on his feet when they entered, his face tight with relief. “Did you get it?
