Matilda's pov

When I woke up, the air felt chilly. The kind of cold that seeps into bones, past clothing lines, and into flesh.

Before sunrise, that was still that gloomy, the deliberate morning. There was silence in the camp. The sound of trees whimpering and guards switching shifts could be heard.

I stood up and scratched my eyes. As usual, Maya slept with half the dagger securely hooked under her hand and her hair in front of the fire. Common. Even when she slept, she did not believe in ...