After lunch, Shay had claimed the most comfortable spot in the camp.
A makeshift hammock swayed lazily beneath the sprawling branches of an old tree beside the tent, its ropes tied securely to the thick trunk. She slept soundly, one arm hanging loosely over the edge as the afternoon breeze rocked her gently.
Inside the tent, Sandro was equally unconscious, stretched out like a boy who had decided the world could solve its problems without him for the next few hours.
Not far away, Scarlet lingered near Ares and her three godbrothers, her laughter drifting through the clearing every now and then as she tried—rather persistently—to keep their attention on her.
Lara had no desire to join them. Instead, she quietly slipped away.
The air at the edge of the camp felt different—cooler, quieter. Her gaze lifted toward the forest beyond the clearing.
Her gaze lifted slowly toward the forest, and her legs seemed to have a mind of their own.
