Sheryl turned and nearly walked past the tent before she noticed him sitting across camp.
Their eyes met.
Her whole face changed in an instant.
Shock first.
Then fear.
Then a desperate look that begged him not to understand what he had already understood.
"Harry—"
He was on his feet before she finished saying his name.
The stump toppled backward behind him.
Sound around camp dulled. Voices became distant. The clatter of supplies, the murmur of people packing, the scrape of crates over dirt—all of it faded until there was only the pounding in his ears.
He walked toward her.
Fast.
"Harry, wait—" she said, stepping forward with both hands raised.
"Were you in there?"
Heads turned immediately.
Nothing pulled eyes quicker than shame.
"Son, lower your voice."
"Were you in there?"
His voice cracked hard enough to carry through the whole camp.
Sheryl looked around at the watching faces and shrank inside herself.
"It's not what you think."
