I don’t trust him.

  Nerro.

  The way he moves, the way he watches when he thinks no one sees.

  Too quiet. Too careful.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  When he smiles, it never touches his eyes.

  It’s the same kind of smile the noble wore —

  the one who thought he could take what wasn’t his.

  That memory never leaves me.

  And every time Nerro leans closer to the fire, every time he talks soft,

  I feel it again.

  The camp doesn’t notice.

  They’re tired. Hungry. Grateful for any hand that pretends to help.

  But I’ve lived long enough to know:

  shadows hide best when the light feels safe.

  Rell doesn’t see it.

  He looks at Nerro like another survivor, another man with scars.

  He wants to believe in people.

  I can’t.

  Not with him.

  Not with that smile.