The safe zone was large, but the emotional chasm dividing the room made it feel infinite.
On the left side, near the bubbling healing fountain, Oliver sat on a stone bench. He chewed on a strip of dried meat, his expression calm. Amy sat close enough to touch him, her shoulder brushing his, while Isolde sat on his other side, peeling an apple with a dagger that was far too sharp for fruit.
On the far right, huddled in the shadows, was the Hero group.
William lay propped up against a crate, holding a glowing blue potion to his swollen jaw. He looked pathetic—his armor dented, his face a kaleidoscope of purple and black bruises.
Lisa and Sophia sat a few feet away, eating their rations in awkward silence. They kept glancing between the two groups, unsure of where their loyalty should lie. They were the Switzerland of this war.
Meanwhile, Daniel, Jason, and Ren formed a tight circle around William.
