The camp was quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the sound of steel being sharpened. I moved between the tents, carrying water and tending to the men—another servant taken after the raid.

That’s when I saw him. Thorfinn.

He sat alone, his arm bleeding through torn cloth, his eyes cold and unreadable as ever. I hesitated, then stepped closer, lowering my voice.

She said: “You’re hurt.”