Chapter One Hundred

The soft murmur of voices slowly woke her from exhaustion. She smelled apples, cloves and the conditioned leather of Graeven’s Mustang. She felt soft denim against her cheek.

“How have things been tonight?” Graeven whispered somewhere above her head.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” a soft, male voice answered.

“When is the next patrol expected through?”

There was a pause. “Seven minutes and thirty