Chapter Thirty-Three

Brodi collapsed in the worn leather armchair next to his bed. He'd been up for more than twenty-four hours without more than a moment to grab a bite or down a glass of water. Between trying to help triage and transport the wounded, finding places for everyone to sleep, and coordinating runs to buy groceries and other supplies that they needed, he was exhausted. They were ill-prepared for the unexpected influx of ancient peoples who had shown up on his doorstep. Who could be prepared for something like this? There were 397 souls at last count, but he was still not sure if that was completely accurate.

A small smile tugged at his lips, despite his fatigue, at the sight of Liv nursing his son on their bed. It was a vision he never tired of. "I'm sorry I was not here to help last night," he said, toeing off his boots and groaning in relief. He couldn't remember a time when his muscles had ached so much, not even when he was battling warring tribes with broadswords, axes, and spears back