Chapter 43

Evelyn

I could feel the walls around me closing in. But all the while, I smiled and pretended that nothing was amiss.

But I could feel the subtle changes around camp. The people who were friends with and still loyal to Emma gave me displeased glances, some of them even murmuring to each other openly when I passed, hoping I would notice. I could feel her trying to push me out, driving in wedges where she could.

Meanwhile, Logan had become more welcoming and kind. Or at least, he was still trying to apologize for something I had already forgiven him for. The flowers he’d sent proved his genuine apology for the recent chaos, and I kept them as a reminder of his sincerity, even as they began to wilt by my office window.

It was hard for me to determine where I stood between these two conflicting feelings. On the one hand, I felt more accepted than ever. On the other hand, I felt like I was slowly being driven out of town.

I decided to go out for a drink on one of my free nights to clear my head. I needed to let off some steam after another busy week, especially because I had been working nearly nonstop since we were so short-staffed. This, of course, was partially my fault.

With my continued worry over Leirra and Tomas, I needed to drown my concerns for one evening.

The two trainees still hadn’t shown up at the medical center. Even Chris was starting to get worried. He had told me that he reported it, but who knew how far an investigation would get?

I knew who had taken them—or at least had a strong suspicion, but I had no solid evidence to present. If I went and reported it without any tangible proof, I would look just as mad as Emma, spinning stories.

I sighed as I walked, ready to take the edge off of these thoughts. Of course, I didn’t go to the tavern I went to last time, but I ended up in an establishment that felt safer. I ordered only one drink, careful not to overdo it.

I was happy to take in the scenery and atmosphere alone. Around me were common people, not soldiers, rough from the recent battles. These were local people untouched by the brutality of it all. On a raised platform toward the back of the tavern, a live band played something pleasant on guitars and makeshift drums.

It was a delightful evening up until a man approached me.

He smelled of cologne, the expensive kind on the wealthiest lords and captains could afford. The man seemed older, and I saw a scar that striped down his forearm as he raised his hand in front of me with something glimmering as it dangled from his fingers.

The keys glinted in the sunlight like baited hooks. Smooth, silver, and far too conspicuous.

“My name’s Scott. I was just looking over here and wondered… Do you drive?” he asked, holding them out like I was supposed to be impressed.

I gave him a once-over, taking in the custom-tailored shirt, the expensive watch that looked a size too big for his wrist, the whitened teeth that couldn’t quite disguise the decay in his grin. He was a mess of contradictions—both put-together and rough—and he seemed particularly out of place in a tavern like this.

I'd never met him before, but I knew exactly who he was the moment he grinned at me, leaning in closer. The scent of his cologne was cloying, nearly choking me. This stranger was someone who trafficked in power, someone who thought money and charm could get him access to whatever he wanted. Including me.

I leaned against the back of my seat and folded my arms. “You have an automobile?”

These were uncommon and underused. I looked at this man again. He certainly would have had the money for it, but his suggestion seemed like he wanted me to use it.

“Brand new,” he said with that blinding smile. “Want to take a look?”

Something about it all felt off. I was immediately on guard. “I don’t have a reason to drive. I’m in camp all the time. Why do you even ask?”

I was admittedly on edge. This whole interaction reeked of something artificial and suspicious. Anyone who had an automobile to begin with was someone to approach hesitantly. These were rare contraptions in a world of carriages. I didn’t quite trust them to begin with.

He chuckled, smug and slick. “Sure, but this isn’t about convenience. It’s about... what it represents. Freedom.” He gestured to the window where his automobile was presumably parked beyond.

“These inventions are the future. They’re a doorway. To a different kind of life. One where you’re not stuck patching up bruises and burns day after day. One where you get what you deserve.”

“How did you know I’m a healer?” I asked.

Scott’s smirk lengthened. “It’s hard not to take notice of pretty little nurses. They cause quite a stir.”

My brow arched as my skin crawled from his comment. “You said it’s about a life I deserve. And what exactly do you think I deserve?”

He grinned like we were in on the same joke. “Opportunity. Visibility. Power. You’ve got presence, Evelyn. A story people would pay to hear. A look that could open doors most women only dream about. All you need is someone to set the stage.”

“And you’re that someone?”

“I’m someone with connections,” he said smoothly. “And an offer.”

He moved closer, holding the keys out between two fingers. “This is just the beginning. A car. A stipend. Exposure. We’d shape the narrative. You’d be respected, admired. Not just here, but everywhere.”

It was almost artful, the way he layered the pitch. It was half business, half seduction. But under all that polish, I could still smell the rot.

I didn’t take the keys. Didn’t even reach for them.

It all began clicking into place. It was all too random and too convenient. What stranger would offer up his rare and expensive new automobile so easily? He wouldn’t unless he was put up to it by someone else.

And I knew just who would do such a thing.

“Did Emma send you?” I asked, voice low and calm.

A flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Too quick for most to catch, but not me. “She might’ve mentioned you,” Scott admitted, lifting a hand in mock innocence. “She said you were underutilized. Wasted here. And maybe just needed the right... encouragement.”

I smiled. Not because I was amused, but because I wanted him to think I was. I couldn’t picture Emma saying anything even close to what he had suggested.

So this was her latest plan. Emma, with her relentless schemes, her desperate grasping. If fear and humiliation didn’t push me out, maybe she thought a gilded leash would. She thought she could buy me off with pretty things and that I would go quietly into the night. It was almost hurtful that she thought I was so materialistic. Or it would have been if she had been anyone else.

I looked back up at his still-dangling keys meaningfully. His grin widened like he thought I was falling for it.

Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I have a counteroffer.”