Drake's POV
I hadn't gone far when I spotted him trailing behind me. At first, I thought it was just the wind playing tricks, but as I slowed my pace, the figure grew clearer. It was Marcus. I turned, expecting a scout or some other restless soul from the border-watches, and for a second I almost laughed at myself when I saw Marcus instead. He looked how he always did when he'd been traveling: cloak slung over one shoulder, boot-leather scuffed to hell, a battered pack at his back that probably carried three different knives and a grudge or two. He had that look about him, like a man who'd finally decided violence was a respectable hobby.
I stopped and waited for him, curiosity gnawing at the back of my mind. The last time we'd spoken, there had been a certain animosity between us—a cold tension that came from shared grudges and betrayal. I couldn't say I trusted him entirely, but if we were going to stand a chance against Lucius, I needed his strength.
