Chapter 118

Ryker

The supply depot smelled of canvas and dried herbs, underlaid with the faint metallic tang of weapon oil. I ran my hand along the nearest shelf, counting bundles of bandages with the methodical precision that had kept soldiers alive on a dozen campaigns. Twelve. The ledger said eighteen.

I moved to the next row. Dried venison, wrapped in oilcloth. Twenty-three bundles where the records claim