Mark’s POV

The morning broke in slow, muted colors. Pale light filtered through the trees, painting everything in tired shades of gold and gray. I hadn’t slept much. None of us had. The fire had died sometime before dawn, leaving only a faint curl of smoke and the lingering warmth of bodies that had been too close and too far all at once.

Rissa was awake before me, sitting a few feet from the ashes, her knees drawn close to her chest. She stared into nothing, not the trees, not the ...