Page 136 of Warlord's Plaything

The last threads of the rebellion.

They’re waiting.

For me.

For us.

For a sign that this fight isn’t over.

For a reason to keep going.

My grief doesn’t matter.

My guilt doesn’t matter.

Not right now.

They still need me.

If I break, they all break with me.

And that is not an option.

I straighten.

Push past the raw ache in my ribs, the weight pressing down on my chest.

I turn away from Xyron’s touch, even though part of me wants to stay there forever.

"We need a plan."

I say it loud enough for the others to hear.

Loud enough to force myself to believe it.

I lift my chin.

I lock my shoulders.

I am Hira.

I am a goddamn gladiator.

And I am not fucking done yet.

44

XYRON

The moment he steps into the tunnels, I know I’m going to kill him.

The scent of sweat, iron, and old war clings to his skin, his movements too casual for a man walking into a den of enemies.

Menias.

Orc-blooded, broad-shouldered, his eyes sharp as a blade pressed against a throat.

He looks at us like he’s already won.

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