Page 547 - Fourth Wing

or may not be under attack from mythical creatures soon.

The others dismount, and I look back to see Andarna already curled up
between Tairn’s feet.

Xaden walks with Garrick, looking my way with what feels like longing.

I gave him everything, and he never truly let me in. Pain rips through my
chest with the kind of cut that only heartbreak can give, sharp and jagged. I

imagine this is what it feels like to be cleaved apart with a dull, rust-covered

blade. It’s not honed enough to slice quickly, and there’s a one hundred
percent chance the wound is going to fester. If I can’t trust him, there’s no

future for us.

It’s more than tense as the ten of us walk beneath the open portcullis and
into the outpost. The very empty outpost.

“What the hell?” Garrick strides across the courtyard in the center of the
structure, looking along the gathering spaces that should line the interior

just like Montserrat.

“Stop,” Xaden orders, surveying the walls that rise on every side above
us. “There’s no one here. Divide and search.” He glances at me. “You don’t

leave my side. I don’t think this is a War Game.”
I start to argue that he couldn’t possibly know that, but the whip of wind

through the open gate makes me pause. The only sounds in a fortress that

should house more than two hundred people are our footsteps on the rocky
ground—and he’s right. Everything feels off.

“Awesome,” I reply with more than a small dose of sarcasm, and

everyone but Liam—who’s my shadow once again—scatters in groups of
two or three, climbing various staircases.

“This way,” Xaden says, beelining for the southwest tower. We climb and

climb, finally reaching the top of the fourth floor, where the door leads us to
an open-air observation point that overlooks the valley below, including the

Poromish trading post.
“This is one of the most strategic garrisons we man,” I say, looking for