Xander
I pry open the shutters on my room with my fingernails, wood splintering. My neck burns, as it has since I left Finn standing in the tent.
Why did it have to be Finn? Why couldn’t it be some boy from this tiny waystation I would never see again, or some lesser noble I could intimidate into silence? Something sparked in his eyes when he saw it was me—confusion, shock, the blatant attempt to hide from himself what had occurred by accusing me of making fun of him, certainly, but something beyond that. Something I already know will haunt me for the rest of my days.
But those aren’t the sorts of thoughts I can be having right now. I clutch the loose Dun’s Crossing tunic around my chest, desperately grateful for their strange blend of modesty and wildness as I slip in through the windo
