Chapter 8: The Rider in the Rain

The night was a black wound, and the rain came cold and hard. Yan rode at the head of their small column, the stolen years thrumming in his veins like a second pulse, though the ache in his shoulder had dulled to a deep, insistent burn. The trail west was nothing but mud and stone, marked by the occasional white bone of a dead tree. Lianhua rode close behind, her physician’s case strapped across h...