“You little brat,” the captain breathed, raising his fist, and Elliot lifted his chin. Luke drew his sword. The sharp edge glittered in the light of the burning papers, pointed across the desk at the captain. “Don’t touch him.” Elliot took a deep shaky breath, relieved not to be hit and annoyed at how relieved he was. “You pack of stupid, traitorous children—” Captain Whiteleaf began, and then he cut himself off and just glared at them, as if he was memorizing their faces and thinking of punishments to visit upon them. Elliot knew what he saw. Serene at the tent with moonlight in her dark hair
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