Rolan had been gone too long.
It was in Rose's tenseness of shoulders, in the hardness of her grip around the arms of her chairs. Damien's pacing had ended ten minutes earlier and now Damien stood stiff as a statue, arms crossed over his chest, jaw snapping on every few seconds.
Zara had gone mute. That was enough to arouse alarms itself.
And then, finally—footsteps.
Rolan appeared among the trees like a storm cloud brewing, shirt crumpled, dirt smeared across one sleeve, a scratch spreading red on his jaw.
"Where the hell were you?" Damien's voice snapped before Rolan even spoke.
"Handled it," Rolan answered, brief and icy, like the words scorched coming out.
"Managed what?" Rose snapped back, her tone harder than she meant. "We're out here in the middle of nowhere and you just vanish?"
Rolan did not answer her. He didn't even look her direction.
That, above all else, stung.
Damien stepped forward. "Think you're some sort of hero? Running off on your own like this?"
