©NovelBuddy
PREVIEW
... s tent, the moonlight turning the stripes of the canvas into prison bars around us.
He had that familiar smirk that looked like it was borrowed from a weasel with social aspirations. The glow from the half-dead torch cast shadows on the ground that danced like they were trying to escape his bullshit.
He scratched at the stubble on his chin, like he was trying to summon wisdom through friction.
"So you want Silven Dorne," he said at last, drawing out the words as though sa ...
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE























