Six
Solma’s squad are waiting for her south of the village, on the edge of the managed forest. Maxen waves as he spots her, she waves a reply and lengthens her stride. He comes to meet her. His brows are drawn together but his eyes are gentle, questioning.
“That wasn’t half an hour,” he says. Solma frowns.
“Yeah. Sorry.” She swings her rifle off her shoulder and slips a cartridge into the chamber, mainly so she doesn’t have to look at Maxen. His disappointment is palpable, but he’s softening.
“Did you find him?”
He reaches out a tentative hand. Solma stays perfectly still as he brushes her shoulder.
“Yeah,” she says, offering a smile. “He’s fine. Typical seven-year-old. Running off without thinking about how it scares his big sister.”
Maxen chuckles. He’s about to say something but
