“You don’t sleep,” she said quietly.
Reed’s voice came rough. “You don’t either,” he replied, nodding at her alert posture. Her eyes were too sharp for someone who felt safe.
She hesitated, then spoke again. “My name is Nalin,” she said, touching her chest. “These are my sisters.”
Reed didn’t correct her. He knew “sisters” didn’t always mean blood. It meant allegiance. It meant shared wounds.
He kept his voice low. “Why here?” he asked. “There are other cabins. Other ranches.”
Nalin’s gaze flicked to the corners of the room, then back to him. “Other cabins belong to men who talk,” she said. “We needed a man who listens.”
Reed felt his jaw tighten. Listening had never kept him out of trouble. It had just taught him exactly what trouble was coming.
Nalin’s eyes dropped to the rifle across his lap. “They will come,” she said simply. Not dramatic. Not pleading. Certain.
Reed stared out the window at the pale line where night softened into morning. “Who?” he asked, though he suspected the answer.
Nalin didn’t say “soldiers.” She didn’t say “settlers.” She said, “The ones with papers.”
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