I glanced up, thinking to see Hosea. Instead, a large scorpion scurried across the way. I jumped to my feet. Hosea was nowhere in sight. I hunkered down, eyeing the creature’s arched red tail. There were nonpoisonous varieties of scorpions, but I was no expert. It was inches from the open mouth of my pack when I moved, bringing my notebook up to smash it. Before I could, Hosea appeared. He took the book and knocked me off balance. His arm stretched across my chest to right me. In a flash, he deposited me by the fire, my notebook in my lap. My chest, where he’d touched me, tingled with warmth. He hadn’t even spilled my ink. Shocked, I watched him return to move my bag from the scorpion’s path.

“Will it come back?” I said, watching it go.

Hosea shook his head. “The fire will keep it away.” He knelt beside me. “Are you okay?” He took my shoulders and ran his hands over my arms and back, leaving trails of sensation. I stared up at him. He’d moved like a blur. Faster than possible—but how?

“There was no need to kill it,” Hosea explained, seeing the question in my expression. His arms were lifted behind his head and I saw he was retying the leather string that held his silver medallion. It must have come loose in our tussle. “We probably disturbed its home when we made camp,” he went on.

I nodded. My eyes found the weapon at his hip. He was armed and so very strong, and yet he refused to hurt even the most insignificant of creatures. “It’s getting late, I’m tired,” I said. I put my ink and notebook away. I arranged my bag beneath my head. Hosea moved his blanket close to mine before he lay down.

* * *

Later, I rolled onto my back. I let out a small sigh and shifted to my side, toward the fire.

“What’s the problem, Cobane?”

Not bothering to feign sleep, I propped myself up on one elbow. “In my room, before we left, your spear appeared in your hand like magic. And just now, to save that scorpion, you came from nowhere.”

“What’s your point?”

“You move so fast. I want to know how,” I said, bluntly.

“I shouldn’t tell you anything. You’ll inform Jones the first chance you get.”

I said nothing, unable to promise him loyalty, as I fully intended to escape.

He sighed. “What do you know about Clayskin history?”

“Not much. Why?”

He sat up. “Knowledge of Clayskin history would make it easier to explain. What do you know about the Last War?”

“Everything,” I said confidently. I sat up.