“I’m not affiliated with any of the Havens.” Her voice didn’t waver.
Honest. And vague. Her specialty.
“A mercenary, then.”
“You could say that.” The corner of Aimee’s mouth twitched.
“Well.” Kazuma glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I assume, like myself, you weren’t wandering about these mountains looking for a giant snake to screw? Unless…”
“Oh, for shit’s sake.” She shoved him hard in the shoulder.
Gasping, his body jerked against the ropes.
“No, Kazuma. I am not here to fuck snakes.” She eased forward, casting a long shadow over him.
“Gods…” Kazuma sank back against the stretcher, squeezing his eyes shut. “I could die at any moment, and here you are…”
When they opened again, they found hers.
And something shifted.
Pressure pulsed at the base of her throat, a hush inside her skull—as if everything else, even the sound of the wind, had stepped aside.
She didn’t blink.
Neither did he.
His expression wasn’t guarded or searching. Just…still, like he saw something he recognized without understanding why.
The space between them stretched thin, and for one long, impossible second, the world paused.
“Then why?” His throat bobbed. “Why were you here?”
“I go…” She looked away. “Where the Pattern takes me.”
“Exasperatingly vague.” Kazuma shook his head. “You’re either a shinobi speaking in riddles, insane, or halfway through a very underwhelming haiku.”
Aimee opened her mouth to respond but was cut short.
Voices.
The tread of boots over grass. A murmured command. Then another.
She faced the ridge just below them, where the trail wound out of sight, resting her hands palm up on her thighs.
They weren’t alone anymore.
Chapter four
“Mystoryhasn’tchanged.”Aimee leaned back in the chair, spine digging into the rough timber. The ceiling above her rounded in a shallow arch, carved directly into the mountain’s face. “I don’t know the man, other than that he’s irritating. I’d never heard of Mana until today. And I’ve certainly never used it.”
The woven metal binding her wrists grated as she adjusted her seat, resisting the urge to twist against it again. It was too tight for that, braided fine as thread but harder than chain, biting cold where it touched her skin.
She glanced toward the elevated bed on the other side of the room.
Kazuma lay motionless over a simple wool coverlet, one arm stretched toward each corner post and secured in the same silvery rope. His head lolled to the side, dark hair fanning across the pillow. Besidehim, an elderly woman crouched, fingers moving lightly along his bare torso, pausing at the wound in his side.
“Yet you dragged the shinobi through miles of mountain terrain. And you carry the forbidden map.” There was a pause. “Not to mention that ignorance of Mana is next to impossible.”
