Page 55 of The First Scar
Because we wouldn't be.
"You're scanning for threats in the wrong shadows, love."
The voice slid out of the darkness above me—smooth, amused, and irritatingly calm. I jerked my head up. Maxx was perched on a narrow ledge of rock I hadn’t even noticed, one leg dangling casually, peeling an orange with a knife that glinted in the ember-light.
"I thought you vanished," I hissed.
"I'm Mirage-marked," he drawled, tossing a peel down to land near my boot. "I'm only gone when I want you to miss me."
He slid down the rock face, landing silently in a crouch before straightening to lean against the wall beside me. His gaze swept the sleeping camp.
"If I were you, I'd close my eyes while the air is still breathable," he murmured, popping a slice of orange into his mouth. "Rest up, Flameheart. You'll need the patience."
"For what?"
He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "For the weather. It turns tomorrow." He gestured vaguely toward the entrance with his knife. "We've got a guest incoming. The brooding type. Thinks 'joy' is a tactical error and wears his conscience like a corset."
I frowned. "Who?"
"Oh, you'll know him." Maxx winked, a flash of desert heat in the frigid cavern. "Tomorrow is going to bedeliciouslycomplicated. Don't say I didn't warn you."
I opened my mouth to demand a straight answer, but he was already gone.He’d pushed off the wall and dissolved back into the gloom, leaving only the scent of citrus and a burning warning.
Chapter 12
AMARIA
Morning came too soon and not soon enough.
I’d spent the dark hours cycling between restless vigilance and a thin trance. Serenya had found me without comment, curling into a bedroll I'd hauled to a shadowed alcove behind the supply stores. She was learning not to ask.
Now, the cavern stirred with the chaos of waking. The fire had been relit—fresh smoke layered over last night's stale haze—and someone had propped the ventilation grate open, letting a thinblade of grey daylight cut across the far wall. Rebels stretched, grumbled, passed around stale bread and watered ale like it was a feast. Standards lower fast underground.
It came in increments.
A nod from a rebel I didn't recognize, attention dragging to the satchel where the key's edge bit into my hip. A gap in the crowd that widened when I approached—not fear, exactly. More like... space. Acknowledgment.
Brannick met my eye from across the chamber and raised his cup in a lazy salute. Even Ryla, polishing her blade by the dead fire, inclined her head a fraction of an inch.
"Look at that. You're almost popular." Serenya appeared at my elbow and shoved a hunk of bread into my hand before I could argue.
"They're deciding if I'm useful." I tossed the bread and ripped into my jerky. "Not the same thing."
"It's a start."
Maybe. My muscles still groaned from yesterday's climb, but the tremor in my hands had stilled. For the first time since I'd walked into this place, I didn't feel like I was waiting for a knife in the back.
A horn sounded—low, resonant, echoing off the stone walls.
The rebels moved like they'd been expecting it, setting aside food and conversation, flowing toward one of the larger chambers. Everyone knew what this was except us. Wonderful. Serenya and I exchanged a glance and followed.
The training ring opened before us—a wide, circular space carved from the living rock, its dirt floor worn smooth by countless boots. Kaelen stood at the center, arms crossed, pale gaze sweeping over the crowd like he was deciding which of us deserved to be here.
Whatever came next, he'd summoned the whole camp to see it.
Maxx's words from the night before slithered through my memory.
Tomorrow is going to be deliciously complicated.
