Harper
He gave it five, which for him was subtle.
When he finally folded himself through the flap, the tent stopped being a tent. Two-person, the tag had claimed.
The tag had not accounted for seven feet of Sentinel with shoulders like a doorframe and an attitude to match. The walls came in, the light went out, and there was suddenly a great deal of Vane and very little air.
"Talk," he murmured, so low it never cleared the canvas.
I kept it to a breath. "I can't read which of the four is dirty. Could be Sable, could be the wallpaper. So we lose all of them, not just the one." I looked up at the dark shape of him. "Tell me you've got something."
"Satellite map." His voice was a low scrape an inch from my ear. "Tomorrow's route runs past a human refuge. Ashport. Off the Alliance grid."
