Faye's POV
The stolen blade felt solid in my palm as I pressed deeper into the shadows of the moss-covered stone. My fingers wrapped around the handle with desperate precision, the metal warm from my grip even as cold rain dripped steadily from the rocky overhang above us.
The children remained motionless in their cramped hiding spot, backs flush against the damp boulder. Their faces had gone ashen, but not one of them dared to breathe too loudly. Terror had taught them silence faster than any lesson could.
They had learned to survive in mere hours.
Kim crouched nearest to the edge, his small frame tense with readiness. Beside him, Jeffrey clutched his own weapon with surprising steadiness. The Alpha-blooded boy was no bigger than my waist, yet mud and dried blood streaked across his young face like war paint. His eyes held a sharpness that belonged on a warrior, not a child.
