The camp erupted into movement as Elira gave the order. Tents came down, supplies were strapped to weary backs, and the forest paths filled with the shuffle of boots. The rebels moved quickly, but the strain showed in every face—too many had wounds, too few had strength.
Kael leaned against a tree, trying to help bind packs. His arms trembled after a few knots, his body reminding him he was far from whole. Mira caught him struggling and snatched the rope from his hands.
“You’re barely standing,” she said sharply. “You think hauling bags will fool anyone into thinking you’re fine?”
Kael forced a smirk, though sweat beaded his brow. “Better than lying in that tent while the rest of you work.”
Mira glared, then sighed. “Stubborn storm.” She tossed him a waterskin. “Drink. If you collapse
