Zoe POV

I make myself stand tall.

Every part of me that is still Zoe—still the person behind the eyes, still the one who knows how bad this situation actually is—wants to fold. But I square my shoulders and I lift my chin and I walk toward the nearest cluster of warriors like I have somewhere to be.

They don't charge. They don't retreat either. They shift sideways, tracking me, keeping their distance but not giving ground. It's the movement of people who aren't sure ...