Chapter 22 · Untitled Chapter

"Stand up, Vale."

Cyrus couldn't move. His knees were locked in the dirt, his palms pressed flat to keep them from shaking. Ten feet away stood Davin Arch—dead Davin Arch, who'd bled out in a valley two years ago—with fresh scars climbing his throat and a captain's insignia on his collar.

"I said stand."

Rhys stepped aside. Even he knew when to clear a path.

Cyrus forced himself upright. His legs felt boneless. Arch watched him with the calm patience of a man waiting for a trapped animal to bite.

"You're dead," Cyrus said. His voice cracked. "You're all dead."

Arch tilted his head. "Funny. I remember you running. Don't remember dying."

Behind him, Orin shifted. Rhys lowered his tablet. The camp had gone silent, including the children near the convoy gate.

Kael stood beside Lien. Lien held Kael's knife now, but Kael's eyes stayed on Cyrus.

"Captain Arch," Rhys said carefully, "we weren't expecting—"

"I know what you were expecting." Arch didn't look at him. "Vale folds. Hands over the woman. Takes his discharge and drinks himself to death in a border town."

He moved closer.

"But he doesn't fold easy. Does he? Even when he should.