Amara
I could feel the stares before I even stepped into the training grounds.
I’d only come to check on one of the injured warriors. Nothing more. But as I walked past the guard posts and the ring of stone benches near the barracks, the silence hit me like a wave.
Not total silence. That would have been kinder.
This was the kind of silence that hummed with unspoken words.
With suspicion.
With fear.
Nyra pressed forward inside me, tail twitching. They’re talking. Not to you. About you.
I kept walking.
My pulse climbed with every step.
When I reached the healing tent, one of the warriors I’d treated last week—Bran, a younger male with a shoulder wound—flinched when I approached.
Just slightly.
But I noticed.
“I’m here to change your bandage,” I said quietly.
He didn’t meet my
