Chapter Forty?Seven — Shadows at the Edge of Camp

  Night dropped over the foothills like a heavy cloak, thick with dust and dread. The small fires burned low. Families huddled close. Oxen shifted uneasily in the dark. Children whimpered in their sleep.

  Miles sat awake beside Jonah beneath their wagon, knees pulled to his chest, ribs aching with each breath. Jonah stayed close, shoulder warm against his, murmuring soft reassurances now and then:

  “You’re safe.” “I won’t let him touch you.” “No one will.”

  Miles wanted to believe it.

  But Peterson’s voice — that cold, venomous promise — kept echoing through the dark:

  “Tonight, we decide if he stays in charge… or if he steps aside before he kills us all.”

  Jonah kept watch until the deepest part of night, lantern turned low, rifle across his lap. Miles could tell Jonah wasn’t resting — not really. Every shadow made him tense. Every far-off scrape sent his hand to the rifle.

  Cassian, somewhere in the dark, patrolled the perimeter alone. He seemed like a part of the land — silent, fluid, dangerous. Miles felt safer knowing he was out there.

  It should have been enough.

  But deep in the night, when the flames sank to embers and most of the camp drifted into uneasy sleep—

  danger crawled from the shadows.

  Whispers Under Canvas

  Miles had just slipped into a half-dream when a sound pricked his ears — soft, careful, too deliberate to be chance.

  A footstep.

  Then another.

  Miles froze.

  Jonah didn’t stir — exhausted at last — but Miles touched his arm gently.

  “Jonah,” he whispered. Nothing. Too deep asleep.

  Another step. Closer.

  Miles’s heart hammered painfully.

  He peeked out from beneath the wagon skirt — careful, silent.

  And saw them.

  Two silhouettes creeping behind the supply wagon. One tall. One thin.

  The tall one lit a pipe with a trembling match.

  Miles recognized the outline instantly.

  Peterson.

  His breath caught.

  The second figure whispered hoarsely, “You sure this is the way?”

  Peterson hissed, “We can’t wait for a vote. They’ll side with him. They’re fools — thirsty, frightened fools.”

  Miles’s blood ran cold.

  He strained to hear.

  “We drag him out,” Peterson whispered. “Tonight. Quietly. Dump him where the riders roam. When they find his body, they’ll stop coming for us.”

  The second man swallowed hard. “And if the others notice he’s gone?”

  “We say he ran off,” Peterson said easily. “Boy’s got a knack for disappearing anyway. Who’s gonna argue?”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Miles pressed a fist to his mouth to stifle a gasp.

  Jonah shifted beside him.

  Miles touched his arm again — firmer this time. “Jonah—wake up.”

  Jonah’s eyes snapped open instantly, instincts sharp. “What? What happened?”

  Miles nodded toward the shadows.

  Jonah looked. His entire body went rigid.

  “Stay here,” Jonah whispered.

  “No,” Miles whispered back fiercely. “I’m not letting you face them alone.”

  Jonah’s eyes softened — pained, protective. “Your ribs—”

  “Don’t matter.”

  Jonah growled under his breath. “Fine. But you stay behind me.”

  They slipped from under the wagon like ghosts.

  A Choice in the Dark

  Peterson and his accomplice moved toward the back of the camp — toward the place the night riders would most easily reach if they approached again.

  Peterson muttered, “Grab his legs. We’ll say he sleepwalked. Fell. Anything.”

  The accomplice hesitated. “Peterson, I don’t… he’s just a kid.”

  “That kid almost killed us all!”

  Miles flinched — something inside twisting painfully.

  Jonah stepped out of the shadows.

  “Peterson.”

  The two men froze like deer caught in lantern light.

  Peterson straightened slowly, pipe glowing like a tiny, vicious star in the dark.

  “Well now,” he drawled. “Was wondering when you’d show.”

  Jonah raised his rifle. Not aiming. Just making a point.

  “You’re done,” Jonah said. “You make another move toward Miles, and I swear—”

  “You’ll what?” Peterson sneered. “Shoot me? Can’t wait to see how you explain that to Finch.”

  Cassian’s voice cut in from behind them.

  “I’ll explain it.”

  Peterson whirled — startled — as Cassian emerged from the darkness, rifle resting casually on his shoulder.

  “Heard every word,” Cassian said. “Every damn one.”

  Peterson’s accomplice paled. “We— we weren’t—”

  “Oh, you were,” Cassian said coldly. “You were about to drag a child into the dark and leave him to die.”

  Jonah’s jaw clenched. “Not happening.”

  Peterson glared at Miles. “He’s our curse. He’s why they’re hunting us. If we don’t get rid of him—”

  “No,” Cassian said flatly. “They’re not hunting him because he’s cursed. They’re hunting him because they fear him.”

  Miles flinched. Jonah’s breath hitched. Peterson’s eyes widened.

  “What?” Peterson spat. “That’s insane—”

  Cassian stepped closer, voice low and ice-cold. “I’ve seen The Harrower’s men break camps. I’ve seen them slaughter families. They don’t waste bullets on the weak. They come for the ones who matter.”

  Peterson scoffed. “He’s a nobody!”

  Cassian turned, gaze locking onto Miles like an arrow finding its mark.

  “No,” he said quietly. “He’s not.”

  Jonah felt it too — the weight of Cassian’s words — and he stepped closer to Miles without even thinking, a silent promise carved into the space between them.

  Peterson faltered, voice cracking. “You can’t seriously— you can’t expect us to believe that.”

  Cassian smiled — humorless, dangerous. “Believe what you want. But touch him again… and it won’t be the riders you have to fear.”

  Jonah lifted his rifle a fraction. “I’ll second that.”

  Peterson’s face twisted, rage choking him. “This isn’t over. You’ll see. You all will.”

  Cassian took a single step forward.

  “Peterson.”

  Peterson froze.

  Cassian’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper.

  “It’s over for tonight.”

  Peterson’s nerve broke.

  He and his accomplice fled into the dark, footsteps scattering gravel as they disappeared behind the wagons.

  The camp remained eerily quiet.

  Jonah exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging.

  Miles trembled — adrenaline, fear, exhaustion.

  Cassian looked at him then — deeply, knowingly, almost… sadly.

  “We need to talk, kid,” he murmured. “Soon. Before you break beneath what’s coming.”

  Miles’s voice shook. “I… I know.”

  Jonah slid an arm around Miles’s back, steadying him, protective and warm.

  “We’re going to get through this,” Jonah whispered. “Together.”

  Miles leaned into him — not from weakness, but because he trusted Jonah more than the ground beneath his feet.

  But the night did not feel safe.

  Not anymore.

  Because Peterson wasn’t the only one hunting him.

  The Harrower was coming.

  And the trail was narrowing.