““Where have you been, Milo?” I asked quietly. “It’s been three days.” “Working for Jason,” Milo replied, his voice low. I frowned, setting the arrow to the bow. Anyone watching us would think I was the world’s most cautious shot. “Doing what?” My muscles strained as I pulled the bowstring back. “Protecting you.” The bowstring released with a loud twang, and the arrow arced through the air, barely grazing the top of the target before falling to the earth beyond it. A few of the men practicing with javelins saw my miss and called out that I’d find a spindle easier to manage than a bow. I snatched up a second arrow and buried it fletch-deep in the core of the target. The jeering stopped. Only then did I return my attention to Milo. “That makes no sense,” I muttered. “In the first place, what protection do I need? And since when does Jason care about anyone’s skin but his own?” “There may be more to Jason than you think,” Milo said softly.””
