Eileen's POV
"Lord Hardy, please allow me to—" The words died in Eileen's throat the instant she crossed the threshold.
The metallic tang of blood struck her senses like a physical blow, thick and cloying in the confined space of the war tent.
What she witnessed next made her freeze completely.
There, positioned not far from the tent's center, lay Faye beneath a battle-worn blanket that seemed more suited to covering the wounded than providing comfort. Her eyelids were closed, her complexion ghostly pale, yet her breathing remained steady and even. Golden strands of hair clung to her sweat-dampened forehead, while flickering light from a nearby brazier cast dancing shadows across her features.
She's breathing. She's actually alive.
Behind her, Sally released a sharp intake of breath. "She's... she's really here?"
