Eli
Jace wakes me before sunrise with a sharp knock and no f*****g explanation.
"Up," he growls through the door. "Council wants eyes on you."
Council. My chest tightens, panic clawing at my throat. I roll off the cot, every muscle sore from yesterday's failed escape, and pull on the shirt they gave me.
It’s stiff, reeks of smoke and leather and other men's sweat. The bite on my neck throbs with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of what I've become.
The air outside is sharp with frost, the sky washed pale gray like old bones.
Jace marches me through the camp, past watchmen stacking crates of ammo and silver bullets. It isn't a home. It's a war machine, and I'm about to be fed into it.
The lodge looms ahead, heavy timbers carved with symbols I don't recognize.
Jace pushes me thr
