The "Dawn Hunt" is supposedly a sacred ritual of strength, but currently, it looks more like a disastrous camping trip led by people who hate each other. Silas is still refusing to put on a shirt, Julian is clutching his first-aid kit like a shield, and I am wearing a pair of Silas’s tactical cargo pants cinched at the waist with a piece of literal rope.
"I look like a hobo who found a military surplus store," I grumble, trying to keep up with Silas’s predatory strides.
"You look like mine," Silas says, not even looking back.
"Actually, she looks like she’s in a hostage situation," Julian pipes up, tripping over a tree root. "Ivy, blink twice if he’s using pheromones to brainwash you. I have a pamphlet on toxic magnetism in my bag."
"Julian, please, just look out for bears," I sigh.
S
