Alaric
Bear brought me the scout report while Preacher was still working through the wounded, his expression grim enough that I braced myself before he'd said a single word.
"Vance is riding with the second wave," he said. "Not directing from a distance like he usually does. Confirmed sighting, less than an hour out."
*[He's coming himself,]* Rook said, low, something old and dangerous stirring beneath the words. *[Twelve years, and he's finally coming himself.]*
*I know.*
I felt the particular, familiar weight of Ridge Pass settle back into my chest — not just old grief this time, but something sharper, more immediate, the certainty that whatever Vance intended tonight, he meant to finish it personally, close enough to see the results with his own eyes.
"How many riders," I asked.
