Angel's POV
I sat on the log by the fire, wrapped in Uriel's oversized coat, feeling like a child playing dress-up in her father's clothes.
The bread in my hands was fresh and warm, but it had no taste in my mouth. Every bite required conscious effort to chew and swallow.
Around me, warriors ate and talked in low voices, their conversation filled with rough laughter. They were massive men, all of them - scarred and battle-worn, with eyes that looked like death.
I kept my gaze fixed firmly on my bread, trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible.
No one spoke to me. No one even looked at me.
I told myself that was fine. Preferable, even.
But the loneliness sat heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Movement near the edge of camp caught my attention. One of the warriors - Gareth, I thought his name was - approached with three people in tow. A tall elderly man with weathered features, followed by two young women.
