Page 40 of The First Scar
A wooden tray sat on the floor beside me. Bread. Cheese. Some kind of dried meat. A pitcher of water, still cool with condensation.
Someone had been in here.
Someone had watched me sleep.
"Serenya." My voice cracked with sleep and fury.
She was already awake, sitting on one of the crates, nibbling a piece of bread like this was perfectly normal. Like we hadn't beenfound.
"They didn't kill us," she said mildly. "Eat something."
"They werein here. While we were—" I couldn't even finish the sentence. The violation of it crawled under my skin, hot andwrong. I'd beenunconscious. Defenseless. And someone had walked right in, set down a tray, and walked right back out.
"It was Maxx." Serenya took another bite. "I woke up when he came in. He winked at me and told me not to tell you."
"And youdidn't?"
"You needed sleep more than you needed to stab someone." She shrugged, utterly unrepentant. "Besides, he left chocolate."
I blinked at her. Then at the tray, where a small, dark square sat beside the cheese like a peace offering from someone with a death wish.
"I'm going to kill him."
"Eat first," Serenya said. "Then murder."
I ignored the tray. I ignored the steam rising from the bread and the rich, dark promise of the chocolate. Instead, I reached into my own pack and dug out a strip of dry-cured beef that was harder than the sole of my boot.
Serenya sighed. "You know that hasn't been poisoned, right?"
"I knowthishasn't been poisoned," I muttered, ripping off a piece of the jerky with my teeth.
I was halfway through gnawing on the leather-meat—my jaw actually aching from the effort—when knuckles rapped against the stone wall beside our alcove.
"Knock knock, little hiding spot."
Brannick's voice. Because of course it was. Did anyone in this stronghold have a hobby that wasn'tfinding us?
He propped himself against the archway, eyeing the fresh bread on the tray, then the sad, grey strip of meat in my hand.
"We have a bakery, you know," he said, amused. "You don't have to eat roof shingles."
I swallowed the lump of beef; it fought me all the way down. I grabbed my own waterskin—not the pitcher on the tray—and chugged all of it before answering.
"What."
"Kaelen's ready for us.”
I raised my eyebrows.
"First mission briefing. You, me, and a few others."
I sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
Because nothing says 'welcome to the family' like a suicide mission before breakfast.
Serenya smoothed the corners of her blanket, bringing her relentless order even to a broom closet. I crammed the last of the meat into my mouth and kicked the crates aside, emerging into the corridor with what I hoped was dignity and not crumbs on my chin.
Brannick waited against the opposite wall, arms crossed, that perpetual almost-smile tugging at his mouth. He didn't comment on the alcove. Didn't ask why we'd abandoned perfectly good cots to sleep behind a pile of dust and forgotten mops. Just pushed off the wall and started walking.
