The first thing he felt was pain.
Not a sharp stab, but a deep heaviness, as if every atom in his body had been replaced with lead. Dylan opened his eyes, the world blurry and spinning. He was lying on a cot—definitely not his. The canvas overhead was thicker, the smells different—less sweat and dust, more medicinal herbs and cleaning agent.
The medical tent.
He turned his head with difficulty. Elisa sat on a stool at his bedside, head bowed, eyes closed. She looked like she'd kept vigil far too long. Near the entrance, leaning against a pole, stood Julius, arms crossed. He wasn't asleep. His dark, watchful eyes were fixed on Dylan.
"You pulled a real stunt, kid," the giant said, his low voice slicing the silence.
Elisa jumped, her eyes snapping open. She leaned toward Dylan. "How do you feel?"
