Fernando’s pov
I ripped my bloodied linen tunic over my head and slammed it onto the dirt floor of the tent.
The movement pulled fiercely against my midsection, bringing a loud hiss of pain through my clenched teeth. I leaned heavily against the wooden strategy table, my broad knuckles turning white as I stared down at my reflection in the small copper washbasin.
My skin was pale, grayed around the lips, and slick with a cold, unhealthy sweat.
I reached down, my fingers trembling slightly as I unwrapped the dark, stained bandages around my waist. The moment the cloth pulled free, the sickening stench of rotting flesh and sour blood filled the cramped canvas space.
A deep, jagged wound sliced across my lower abdomen, black-rimmed and swollen.
It was the souvenir Shaun had given me dur
