Chapter Thirty-Seven
The convoy left Silver Moon just after noon. Rowan watched the packhouse disappear through the reinforced window of the armored vehicle. The familiar stone walls. The training fields. The territory she'd spent weeks trying to survive. Gone. Behind them. She should have felt relieved. Instead, she felt tired. The kind of tired that settled deep in your bones and refused to leave. Across from her, Lyra was talking. Rowan wasn't entirely sure about what. Something involving supplies. Or warriors. Or possibly pastries. The details blurred together. "Rowan." "Hm." "Are you listening?" "No." "At least you're honest." The answer earned the faintest twitch of Rowan's mouth. Not quite a smile. Close enough. Beside them, Jace sat quietly reviewing reports. Or pretending to.
- Writer
