“Sounds like your normal cooking,” Jasira murmured, lying on her side beside the fire. She had pulled her cloak up like a blanket, but her eyes remained open. Watchful.
Gideon clutched his chest. “Ouch! Wounded.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Only in my sleep. And even then, I’m told I mutter charming things.”
Wyn sat across from them, knees tucked to her chest, chin resting on folded arms. The hood of her cloak had slipped back, and the coals reflected softly in her eyes. She gazed intently at the low fire.
I sat a little apart, near the tower’s outer rim, where the stones cracked open toward the slope. My hand stayed near my sword, fingers flexing against the grip.
I didn’t like how quiet the hills had become.
No birds, crickets, or distant owls. Just the brittle rush of wind sliding down the hillside like a blade looking for something to cut.
Gideon’s voice cut back in. “Wyn, you’re the palace archivist in disguise. Any idea what this place was?”
She broke her trance and slowly turned toward him. “There were no names in the city records. Maybe they never completed it.”
“Wrong!” he exclaimed with a grin. “This was the Thornridge Outpost. Supposed to be Caerthaine’s first line of defense. Long before the kingdoms signed treaties and kissed rings.”
Jasira raised a brow. “Then why’s it abandoned?”
Gideon twirled his stick through the pot like it was a scepter. “Because they say it burned from the inside. One morning, patrols passed by and found the entire garrison in ashes. No sign of battle. No fire damage on the walls. The only thing left was dust where bodies used to be.”
The flames popped, and for a moment, no one spoke.
Wyn slowly wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “That’s not possible.”
“That’s the thing about cursed places,” Gideon rumbled, his voice dark with a knowing grimness. “They don’t ask for permission.”
Alaric, who had been pacing the outer rim of the wall, scowled and crossed his arms. “Old stories. Campfire rot. You put too much faith in bedtime fears.”
“And you don’t put enough,” Gideon retorted.
Wyn’s gaze had dropped to the coals again. Her fingers twitched in thought. I watched her shoulders tense ever so slightly.
“Double watches tonight,” I said.
Gideon blinked. “Dramatic.”
“Safe.”
Alaric looked at me, his expression blank, but nodded. “Fine. Jasira and Gideon take first. I’ll relieve them. You two can take the final.”
He nodded toward Wyn and me. She didn’t look up, but I saw her give a slight nod in return.
…
I’d meant to let her rest. We’d been walking for days without a proper stop, and tonight, inside the crumbling shell of the old outpost, was the first real roof we’d had in too long.
When our shared shift came, I rose quietly and took my post alone, hoping she wouldn’t stir. She needed the sleep more than I did.
The night pressed cold against the broken ramparts; the wind slipped through cracks in the stone like a whisper you couldn’t quite hear. The others soon fell asleep, their breathing deep and uneven in the shadows.
I stood at the jagged edge where the wall had long since collapsed, scanning the hills below, nothing but black shapes and shifting moonlight.
Footsteps approached, light but certain. I didn’t turn.
