The desert had changed while they slept.
The air wasn't thick anymore. It bit. The heat had drained away, leaving behind cold that crept into joints and turned sweat into a chill film against skin.
The sky above was darker than it should've been, stars sharp like glass, and the beacon shadow had twisted with the angle of moonlight.
Kael spotted the old man, who had stood up and was standing next to Garron.
The old man's silhouette was hunched over Garron, his hand too close to the bag strap, his other arm angled wrong, like he was trying to hide what he held. Garron's head lolled, still asleep, one hand on the bag like a child clutching a toy.
"What's going on there?" Kael asked, loud enough to wake everyone.
His voice cracked through the cold like a whip. He didn't ask quietly because quiet questions got ignored. Loud ones forced action.
