The first thing Odi noticed was the firelight flickering against the cave walls—low and steady, casting dancing shadows that pulsed like ghostly memories. The second was the smell—smoke, herbs, and something faintly sweet, like crushed berries or honey-smeared bark. The third was the pain. A dull, unrelenting throb in her side, rhythmic and insistent, like a drum being played wrong by someone with no sense of mercy.
She groaned as she sat up, the motion slicing fire through her ribs. Her limbs felt like damp cloth, limp and slow to respond. Every movement sent a new wave of ache through her muscles, and she could feel the tug of bandages around her torso—tight but clean.
Breathing hurt.
She closed her eyes for a moment, pressing the heel of her hand into her temple. The night before came back in fragments—violent, frantic, and stained in red.
The bandits had emerged from the trees like shadows given form, lean and angry, blades flashing in the moonlight.
