Page 48 of Warlord's Plaything

The plan is simple.

Burn the supplies.

Hit House Herox where it hurts.

Not just an attack—a message.

A fucking war cry.

The nobles think they can trap us in the sand, break us, make us fight for their amusement.

They think they can keep us caged.

Tonight, we remind them why cages don’t last forever.

I run my fingers over the handle of my dagger, feeling the cool metal bite into my palm.

Dagen sighs."You’re not going to wait?"

"No. Watch out for my signal."

He gives me a long, measured look.

"And if he’s watching?"

My stomach tightens.

I know exactly who he means.

I don’t need to ask.

I can feel him.

Even now.

Xyron.

The warlord who hunts me with his eyes, his words, his fucking presence.

He’s too close, always too close.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like he’s already decided how this ends.

"Then let him watch,”I say the words before I can think better of them.

Before I can acknowledge the implications.

I realize want him to.

The torches flicker, casting long shadows against the stone.

The rebels are ready.

The place is alive with tension.

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