“Kaster.”
My name in her mouth. The sound hits my nervous system like a physical impact—pressure in my jaw, tension in my spine, dragon heat flaring through my veins unbidden.
She’s looking at me the way she looked at me in the ravine. After I killed for her. After I stood as a wall between her and death.
She’s looking at me like she sees past the excuse.
Like she knows.
“They’ll heal,” I manage.
“How long?”
“Hours.”
“We don’t have hours.”
She’s right. The next wave will be worse. The gaps between attacks grow shorter with each iteration.
“Then we move.” I straighten, ignoring the pull of wounds that haven’t closed. “East. Out of the ravine territory, into the plains. Better sight lines.”
“You’ll slow us down like this.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Managing isn’t surviving.” She throws my words back at me without inflection. Factual. “You told me that.”
The memory surfaces unwelcome—sitting across from her in the dark, forcing her to eat when she wouldn’t. Forcing her to rest when she would have pushed until collapse.
“Five minutes.” I sink against the nearest tree, positioning myself to watch approach vectors. “Then we move.”
She settles beside me without asking permission. Nearer than necessary.
Near enough that the depleted flicker of her power brushes against my awareness like a question I don’t answer.
I don’t tell her to move away.
“They were herding you.”
Her voice breaks the silence that’s stretched between us. Her eyes are still closed, but her breathing has shifted—conscious, aware, choosing to speak.
“In the ravine. Before you found me. The hunters drove me into that kill zone deliberately.”
“I know.”
Her eyes open, dark and sharp in the dim light. “They knew where you’d be and when. They positioned me to intersect.”
The strategic analysis is sound. Uncomfortably sound.
“Bait.”
“Yes.”
She says it without flinching. Acknowledging her role in the gods’ strategy without self-pity or deflection.
“They want me to kill you.” I don’t know why I say it aloud. The words serve no purpose.
“I know.”
