Laura waited until the camp had settled down for the night, most warriors already gone to their tents to prepare for battle or catch what rest they could.

She pushed through the flap of Dante's tent without knocking.

He was sitting on his bed sharpening a sword, his movements sharp and angry, the blade scraping against the whetstone with violence that made her wince.

"Get out," he said without looking up.

"No."

"Laura, I'm warning you—"

"What, you'll hurt me too?" She stepped closer despite the way his knuckles went white around the sword hilt. "Like you're hurting everyone else with this suicide mission?"

Dante's hands stilled on the blade....