ARYA

The apothecary bell chimed overhead as I stepped out into the soft haze of the late morning light, the paper bag of painkillers clutched tightly in my hand. The scent of crushed sage and rosemary clung to my clothes. The smell was soothing.

It had been two days since Tyrone showed up at the door, bloody. And while his reports were enough to stir up a storm, Daxton's condition wasn't getting any better.

He had barely made it through last night. His breathing had turned ...