MADELINE'S POV
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Two packs united, a few fallen soldiers. Thirty, that I know of. My parents are talking with Atlas' and here I stand, near the bonfire blazing, engulfed in the warmth of the red-orange flames that lick at the oxygen in the air. The breeze is cool against my skin, and the drink in my hand has already turned warm thanks to my own heat flaring through me. "Luna," Vaughn's voice is soft as he approaches. He hasn't left me alone since escorting me to the suite where I changed into dry clothes. "I'm not going back inside," I hiss. He falls silent as the tension around me pulls taut. "I wasn't going to ask that of you," he clears his throat, making his discomfort clear. "I was going to ask if you're hungry." I am, I am starving, but the smell of burning flesh a few miles away
