C320 THE HARVEST MOON

The southern horizon didn't hold the soft glow of a sunset. Instead, it was stained with the greasy orange of burning oil and the heat of too many bodies pressed into a small space. Aria crouched in the tall, dead grass, the dry stalks scratching at her neck. Beside her, Elara’s breathing was a rhythmic, tight sound, her hand never leaving the swell of her stomach.

A mile ahead