Chapter 38
#MBTACChapter38 — The first tendrils of dawn crept over the cursed lands, painting the jagged horizon with muted shades of pink and gray. Our camp was still quiet, the others resting while they could. Nimbus had perched himself atop a nearby rock, grooming with a smugness that only cats could achieve. I hadn’t slept much. Too many thoughts churned in my mind—the Rift, the shard, Timothy’s words. And now, as the camp stirred and the weight of the day’s unknowns pressed on me, I knew I needed answers. Timothy stood near the edge of the camp, scanning the horizon. Even at rest, he carried himself like a predator, always alert, always watching. I approached him cautiously, my boots crunching softly against the cracked ground. “You don’t sleep much, do you?” I asked, breaking the silence.
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