Fiona's POV
I heard them before I saw them.
Voices, scattered like leaves in the wind—some low, others sharp. Frustration tangled in every word, thick and pressing, curling through the open space between the cabins.
I knew.
It was about me.
It was always about me.
My fingers tightened around the shawl Miriam had given me, the rough fabric a tether, something real against the unease slithering beneath my skin.
I could turn around. Pretend I hadn’t heard. Walk away, let it slip into the night like an unanswered question.
But that wouldn’t change anything.
So I moved forward.
They stood in the clearing, bodies tense, voices clipped. A wooden table sat at the centre, forgotten, as their gazes burned into each other.
I recognized some.
Warriors—built like stone, their arms folded a
