Edith’s pov
I pulled my cloak tight around my shoulders as I slipped past the perimeter guards, my boots sinking into the damp earth of the ravine. The rogue camp smelled of stale blood, woodsmoke, and burnt canvas. Yesterday’s raid had left the area half-wrecked, but I didn't care about the mess.
I cared about the fact that Chloe was still breathing.
I ducked into the dark mouth of the command tent without knocking. Fernando sat at a low wooden table, a map spread in front of him, nursing a cup of cheap liquor. The scar across his abdomen showed through his half-unbuttoned shirt—smooth, unblemished skin where a thirty-year-old wound used to sit.
He didn't even look up when the tent flap fell shut behind me. "You're late, Edith."
"I had to slip past the Twilight patrols," I snapped, c
