Was “little dreki” some kind of an endearment or curse? And had he really accepted blame for her actions then asked about her well-being? “I’m sorry I hurt you. Well, not so much sorry as worried about your reaction.”

“I’m fine. The wound is healing already.”

Really? As she watched, wide-eyed, his torn flesh wove back together, his wound becoming invisible. But, but... “How is that possible?” Confusion welcomed a tide of dizziness, the world spinning faster and faster.

“How else? I’m not human,” he said with a shrug. “Now I must inspect my territory for traps. I’ll return with food.”

Leave her in an unfamiliar terrain? No! Bring her food? Yes! “Aren’t you afraid I’ll set traps?”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a patronizing half grin. “If someone like you manages to trap me, I deserve my fate.”

Oh, that burned! “Someone like me?”

“Tiny. Fragile. Sickly.” He offered the descriptors without hesitation, happy to help her discover her faults. And he didn’t wait for her reply, either, just stalked off, disappearing in the foliage.

Stand up. Run! Search for Vale. Yes, yes. But even if she could walk, she had, like, a zero point nil chance of doing her sister any good. She was too weak and too slow. And what if she stumbled upon a “combatant?” Her chance of dying would jack up to 100 percent.

Must do something. Think! What did she know? Well, for starters, opioid withdrawal would knock her flat soon.

Nola had two pills in her pocket; she always had two pills in her pocket. A “just in case of an emergency” stash. If she took one now—half her usual four-hour dose—she would head off any major withdrawal symptoms for about six hours. Then, she could take the other pill, and buy herself another six hours. After that...

Okay, then. She set an internal timer in her mind. Twelve hours to form and enact a plan. Ticktock.

Nola lumbered to her hands and knees, the dizziness worsening. When she tried to stand, she toppled. Dang it! She slammed a fist into the dirt.

Calm down. Don’t rage, act. Once again, she lumbered to her hands and knees. She crawled to the pond and popped a pill. Though she knew the dangers of drinking nonsanitized water, she sipped it from her hands. Bottoms up. If her digestive system revolted, her digestive system revolted.

Bonus: if she had raging diarrhea, Zion would be less inclined to touch her. Yay.

As the dizziness eased, she used a tree limb to clamber to her feet. Her legs wobbled, her knees threatening to buckle all over again, but she fought to gain her bearings.

An idea sparked, and she reeled. What if she convinced Zion to rescue Vale?