EIGHTEEN
The light filtering through the canvas was far too bright—annoyingly bright. Not because I wanted to continue sleeping, but because the brightness meant I'd overslept… On one of the most important days of our tour. With a huff, I shoved the blankets away, pushing myself off the pallet and making quick work of changing my clothes and setting my hair.
My jaw was tight when I exited the tent, eyes sweeping over an already dismantled camp. Only the tent I shared with Lysander still stood.
Lysander turned from a conversation he was having with Tyrus; the warm smile on his face faltered when he saw me. He clapped Tyrus on the back, then approached, dropping a kiss on my forehead. "Good morning. I saved you some breakfast."
"Why did you let me sleep so late?" I demanded, the tone bit
