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“It’s nice to meet you.” She wiped her hand on her blouse, making it clear where the stains had come from, before holding it out for Sofia. “I’m Flor.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE

FOX

Fox wasn’t sure why he reacted the way he did. Or at least he wasn’t ready to admit it. The moment the words were out of the scout’s mouth, he’d turned northwest, toward where he assumed the cenote would be. He kept his head down, eyes focused on the ground to avoid thinking of his destination or what he even planned to do.

It didn’t take long to find the path his father and the king’s men had made through the trees. There had been no stealth in their operation and there was a trampled path cutting through the forest.

The scout was following him, close on his heels.

“Sir, shouldn’t we go back into town? You’ve been missing for over a week and Chief Commander Harlow?—”

“When did you say my father left for the base?”

“It would have been hours ago, now,” he said, stumbling over a root as Fox picked his way carefully through the underbrush. “They left before I started my shift, but I’ve seen a few groups returning with prisoners. The raid was successful it seems.”

Prisoners. They’d already had the raid and found the rebels. Would they still be in the base then?

“But the general hasn’t returned?”

“Not that I’ve seen. They may have taken a different route.”

“What’s your name, Soldier?”

“Junior Scout Smithian, sir,” he said, giving his best impression of a salute even as he tripped again. Fox might have felt guilty for moving so fast, but he didn’t much care at this point.

“Go back to your post, Junior Scout Smithian. I need to speak with my father, but I will make sure they know you were the first one to spot my return.”

The boy’s cheeks tinged pink even as he tripped over his feet once more, giving an awkward bow.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Fox didn’t acknowledge the scout as he turned back to where he’d been walking. He wasn’t lying. He’d drop the boy’s name and give him some extra points in the military’s eyes, but he had more important things to worry about, like what he planned on doing when he got to the cenote.

And if he wanted to see his father’s face when he realized Fox was alive. He didn’t expect a joyful, tear-filled reunion, but he knew his father would make a show of it if there were others around.

What he truly wanted to do was find Sofia and take her far away instead of having to see his father. But that thought only sent him into another spiral because how was he going to explain to Sofia why he was so bent on saving her when he couldn’t even explain it to himself? It was his fault she was now in danger to begin with.

She probably wouldn’t even need his help. If anyone was going to find a way to outwit his father, it would be her.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts he was almost surprised when he heard the echoing voices through the trees. It was only another few minutes before the forest opened and he saw the opening of the cenote stretched out before him. It was smaller than he remembered. Nothing compared to the others he and Sofia had stumbled upon during their accidental adventure.

He could hear the voices clearer now, and he recognized one with a lurching certainty.

“They must be storing weapons elsewhere. This couldn’t be their entire stash.”

A mumbled response followed, too garbled to hear it properly.

Fox swallowed down his uncertainty, moving forward to where he saw the rope ladder stretching downward. It was anchored at the bottom, making the climb in and out easier for the soldiers. He was all too happy to be entering using this more comfortable method.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me,” Fox said, voice strong and unwavering despite the acid churning in his stomach.

Crouched over the opening as he was, he was just able to see where his father stood speaking to a pair of sergeants he didn’t recognize. Even from this far, he could see the stiffening of his father’s shoulders as the man recognized his voice. Both sergeants’ faces found his and their eyes flashed in recognition—if not of him—of the familiar white of his hair.

“Fox.” His father’s voice rang out hard and cold, perhaps a product of the echo, but then he was smiling and moving toward the ladder. Fox took it as his cue that he could climb down without being shot by an arrow for trespassing and quickly descended.

His father was waiting for him when he reached the bottom. And they embraced, cold hands resting against Fox’s back for only a second before he pulled away. His father met his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, as if trying his hardest to understand something. Fox kept his face neutral, not wanting to give his father anything. At least not yet. He needed a proper meal and a few nights’ sleep before he was ready to sort through the past two weeks with his father and his people. But he had more important things to worry about before then.