The fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows against the trees. The meal was finished, and the fatigue of travel was setting in.
"Well," Amy announced, standing up and dusting off her skirt. She grabbed her sleeping roll. "I'm turning in."
She didn't walk toward the Hero camp. She walked straight toward Oliver's solitary tent.
William, who had been watching them like a hawk from across the clearing, shot to his feet.
"Amy! Where are you going?"
Amy paused at the tent flap. "To sleep, obviously."
"In his tent?" William sputtered, his face flushing red in the firelight. "That's… that's completely inappropriate! You're the Saintess! You can't share a tent with a mercenary man you barely know!"
Amy turned slowly. The warmth in her eyes vanished.
"I know him well enough," she said coldly. "And honestly, William? I feel safer in here than I do out there."
The implication hit William like a physical slap. He reeled back, his mouth opening and closing.
