“They’re adapting,” Clay mutters beside me.
“Yeah.”
And that’s bad news.
Because desperate men make mistakes.
Trained men learn.
I study the convoy another second before glancing back toward the group tucked into the rocks behind us.
Children huddled beneath blankets.
Mothers exhausted enough they barely react anymore.
And Olivia—
She’s crouched beside the smallest little girl, carefully wrapping another layer around her shoulders.
Her movements are slower today.
More controlled.
Every time she shifts, there’s the slightest tightening around her mouth.
Pain.
She’s trying hard to hide it.
Not hard enough.
I move closer without thinking about it.
Not obvious.
Just enough to reach her fast if she starts bleeding again.
Her eyes flick toward me immediately.
Always aware.
“You okay?” I murmur quietly.
“Fine.”
Automatic answer.
I glance pointedly toward the hand pressed subtly against her ribs.
Her mouth tightens slightly. “Manageable.”
Still not the truth.
Closer though.
I settle beside her anyway.
Close enough our shoulders almost touch.
