“You’re bleeding.”
“Aware.”
“You should?—”
“Later.”
The word cuts off discussion. I don’t argue.
We climb out of the ravine through a narrow passage he seems to know by instinct—a gap in the stone walls that leads tohigher ground. The terrain shifts beneath my feet, loose rock and ash replacing the bone-littered floor of the kill zone.
By the time we reach stable ground, I can support my own weight again. Barely.
Kaster releases me the moment I stand independently. Steps back. Creates distance.
The absence of his fire is startling. Like stepping out of sunlight into shadow. My body notices the loss before my mind processes it—skin prickling, muscles tensing against the sudden cold.
I don’t ask him to come back.
I don’t let myself think about why I want to.
We findshelter in the hollow of a dead tree—massive trunk split by lightning or age, creating a space large enough for two bodies to fit if they don’t mind proximity.
We mind proximity.
Or at least, we pretend to.
Kaster takes the opening, positioning himself between me and the outside world. His back is to the split in the trunk. His eyes are on the dead forest.
I press against the far curve of the hollow, putting maximum distance between us. The gap is maybe four feet. It feels like nothing.
“They were waiting.” My voice comes out rough, scraped raw by exhaustion. “The hunters. They flanked around your patrol route and cut me off.”
“I know.”
“How did you find me?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. His mouth tightens—consideration, not tension. Choosing his words.
“I backtracked when you didn’t reach the checkpoint.”
“You set checkpoints?”
“Mental ones.” His eyes don’t leave the tree line. “You should have reached the western edge of the forest twelve minutes before you entered that ravine. When you didn’t, I doubled back.”
Twelve minutes. He was tracking my pace without telling me. Calculating my position based on assumptions he never voiced.
“You knew they might try to separate us.”
“It’s what I would do.” A beat. “They’re learning. Adapting strategy based on what worked with the scouts.”
The scouts tested us. Cataloged our patterns. Reported back. And the gods responded by sending creatures specifically designed to exploit the vulnerabilities those reports revealed.
They know I’m the weaker target. Know the Anchor exhausts me. Know that killing me removes Kaster’s ability to make permanent kills.
“They’ll try again.”
“Yes.”
