Eli
Days blur, but I don’t stop looking for a way out.
I move through camp with my head down, jacket pulled tight against my neck to hide the bruises.
My eyes never rest. Every crate that’s unloaded, every truck’s arrival, every group heading to the borders, I count them, mark them in my mind.
Jace catches me hanging back near the storage shed one afternoon. He eyes the crate in my arms and then the map tacked to the wall behind him. “You’re even quieter that usual lately,” he says, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “Planning something?”
I force a tired shrug. “Just trying to figure out how far this place stretches.” Keep the questions harmless and small.
He studies me, unreadable, then jerks his chin toward the tree line. “Blackthorn runs from the river bend to the old wat
