Mary Ann’s POV
“Gregor is not the one giving the orders.”
Horace’s words cut through the noise around the burning shelter.
For several seconds, no one moved.
The ruined building continued collapsing behind us, flames rising through the roof while warriors carried buckets from the ravine. Smoke rolled across the clearing, thick enough to sting my eyes even through the breathing cloth Elara held over my mouth.
Modric remained beside me on the ground.
His shoulder was bleeding again. Half his shirt had been torn during the shift, and soot covered his face and chest. He looked exhausted, injured, and furious.
Yet the moment Horace spoke, all pain disappeared from his expression.
“Who is?” Modric asked.
Horace coughed violently.
One of the healers tried to make him lie back, but he ca
