Stephanie's POV
The sun was starting to dip low, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. It was pretty, but I didn't care. All I cared about was that Cane had been gone for way too long.
He'd said he was going scouting. "Just to check the other side of the ridge," he'd said, kissing my forehead. "See if there's a better place for a signal fire. Two hours, max."
That was four hours ago.
At first, I was annoyed. Typical Cane, losing track of time. Then I got busy. I tidied the shelter. I checked the fish lines. I organized our pitiful stash of supplies for the tenth time.
Three hours in, the annoyed feeling packed its bags and left. A cold, skinny fear moved in instead.
What if he'd fallen? That ridge was steep. What if his wound had opened up? What if some animal—I'd seen some pretty big lizards—had decided he looked like a tasty, grumpy snack?
