“They’ll be fine,” Caledonia repeated to herself. Yet even as she said the words, she knew no one was fine in this world. She might never know what became of her girls. She’d traded her place in that family, and she’d failed to kill Lir in the process. She’d given up everything, and for nothing.

When at last the tent flap opened, Caledonia was so tired of her own thoughts, she almost hoped it was Sledge or even sullen, heavy-handed Pine come to scowl at her. Instead, a girl with strands of hair ranging from honey gold to reddish brown passed into the tent with a small bag in her hands and a sense of purpose in her step.

“Awake, I see,” she said, voice warm yet as deliberate as her stride. “I’m Triple, and I’ve got a surprise for you. Can you sit up? Here, let me help you.”

She moved to Caledonia’s side, settling herself on the edge of the cot as Caledonia slowly moved into a sitting position. Triple was small and sturdy with muscled curves that reminded Caledonia of Redtooth, except where Redtooth had been as white as lilies, this girl was tanned in a way that suggested the sun would never burn her. She was dressed in clothes reminiscent of Sledge’s—black top over green pants with a woven sash of silver knotted at her waist, long tails fluttering by her knee. An empty sheath hung from one hip, and Caledonia suspected the blade had been removed specifically for her benefit.

The girl rummaged around in her bag and produced a square patch that was so gray it was almost metallic. “A nanopatch,” she said proudly. “It’ll fix that wound on your back better and faster than anything else we’ve tried.”

Caledonia knew about nanopatches. They were old-world medtech. They were rare. And they were incredibly valuable. She didn’t like the thought of being indebted to these people any more than she already was, but she also didn’t like the idea of sitting around here for weeks while her body slowly knit itself back together.

“With your permission, of course,” Triple said, holding up her free hand with her palm facing Caledonia. When Caledonia shook her head in confusion, Triple added, “With your consent.”

Caledonia lifted her hand as Triple had, placing her own palm against the girl’s. At that, Triple gave a satisfied smile and turned again to her work. The gesture was there and gone, but the meaning was clear: Triple would only touch Caledonia if she agreed to be touched.

“I’ll need to get under your shirt, and this will definitely hurt, but it shouldn’t last too long.”