Kael woke to the sound of rain.
It drummed gently against the canvas roof above him, cool and steady. For a moment he thought he was back home, a boy again listening to storms through his window. Then the ache in his chest reminded him—home was gone, and the storm lived inside him now.
He tried to sit up but a sharp pain lanced through his ribs. A hand pressed firmly against his shoulder.
“Don’t,” Elira said. Her voice was stern, but the relief in her eyes betrayed her. She had dark circles under them, her blade never far from reach. “You’re alive. That’s enough for now.”
Kael looked around. The tent was small, its corners damp, but a fire flickered low at the center. Mira was dozing against the wall, arms folded, daggers still at her side. Joren sat sharpening his sword, his bandaged
