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“Stay here,” Micah says, rising out of bed and grabbing his bone weapon.

I’m sick of being told to stay put, so of course, I wrap myself up with blankets and follow him out and wait, shivering. It feels like the temperature dropped at least ten degrees since the early evening. The fire is nearly out, and my icy breath wraps through the surrounding air. I blow on the embers, trying to get them burning again.

After a few minutes, Micah emerges from the shadows of the meadow. “Thomas isn’t doing well. His hand is bad,” he says as he approaches me. “Jade is asking for you.”

His eyes are tight as he crouches next to me—the same tightness he gets whenever he’s worried.

Keeping the blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I head over to their shelter. Micah stokes the fire, adding a few more logs to get it going again.

When I arrive, Thomas is on the ground, withering in pain. Jade is lying beside him, crying and wiping his forehead. I step around their small fire, embers still burning ash.

I crouch down, lean in, and try not to choke on the sweaty smell. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jade says, sitting up with tear-stained cheeks. “We were sleeping, and he started moaning and burning up.”

I grab his wrist, pulling off the shirt he is using to protect his wound. My heart skips a beat. Even in the dark, I can see the redness and swelling. His body heats the entire shelter. “His palm is infected.”

She sits up and grabs his other hand, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, I kind of thought so. What do we do?”

I sigh. “Let’s try to keep the wound clean. Give me a few minutes, I’ll talk to Micah.”

I head to the stream, tiptoeing through the dark. I grab one of Jade’s shirts and, surprised by my strength, I tear it in half and dip the two pieces into the cold water. I rush back to them and place one on his forehead and use the other one to clean his wound.

Thomas isn’t coherent. His eyes are closed, and he’s shivering, even though his body feels like he’s in the depths of hell.

They slashed his hand, like we are in the Dark Ages, and now he’s dying.

A hand tickles my back while I’m bent over, laying a cool cloth over Thomas’s forehead. Micah crouches behind me and places his head on my shoulder. I turn to face him and grab his knee to keep me stable. “We need the medicine from the first aid kit, Micah. We have to disinfect it. We have some, don’t we?”

Micah scowls. “We do. I used some antiseptic on Maison when he got wounded. But there is no way they are going to give me anything… not after I pressed my arm in Ezra’s throat.”

I adjust the blanket over my shoulders as the cold wind sends chills down my bones. “We have to get it. Maybe if we explain the situation?”

Micah snorts. “Sure. I’ll just walk up to Ezra and tell him I need to steal his medical supplies. Remember, they’re the ones who did this to him, London.”

I press my lips together as annoyance cuts through my chest. I don’t need his sarcasm right now. “So, what do you think we should do?” I snip at him.

He reaches up, massaging the back of my neck, and his eyes soften. “I have to sneak in and take it.”

My eyes widen. “No. No way. I’m going with you. I am not separating from you again. Wherever you go, I go.”

Micah lets out a sigh. “I’m not sure that’s safe.”

I cross my arms. “Since when do you care about safe?”

A quirk of his lips. “Good point. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Yes.”

He nods in approval and that bloom of pride swells over me. “Ezra will probably have the supplies guarded. At least, that’s what I would do if I were in charge. Somehow, we’ll have to distract them or hurt them. But either way, we grab the medical kit and leave. Quick in, quick out. Hopefully, they won’t even know we’re there.”

“Won’t they be expecting us?”

He shrugs. “The fact we’ve only been gone one night is in our favor. They may not expect us so soon.”

I pull my blanket up. “I don’t know, Micah… I have a bad feeling about this.”

Terrible, actually.