I’m calculating what I’m willing to risk to keep him alive.
The answer is everything.
FIFTEEN
KASTER
Dawn breaks gray and cold over the shrine courtyard.
I haven’t slept. Haven’t needed to. The wounds she cleared closed fully during the night, leaving nothing but thin scars that will fade within the week. My body runs at full capacity now—no poison burning through my veins, no regeneration fighting divine corruption.
She did that. Put her hands on me and burned out the wrongness, nearly killing herself in the process.
Reckless. Stupid. Necessary.
I watch her stir from across the courtyard, where I’ve been tracking the perimeter for the past four hours. She moves differently when she first wakes—slower, less guarded, her body not yet remembering to conserve energy. Her hair falls across her face in dark tangles. Her eyes find me immediately, like she knew exactly where I’d be.
She probably did.
“You didn’t rest.”
I don’t bother with denial. “I don’t need to.”
“You needed to yesterday.”
“Yesterday, I had divine toxin dissolving my organs.” I cross the shattered paving stones toward her, noting every detailautomatically. The shadows beneath her eyes. The slight tremor in her fingers as she pushes hair back from her face. The way she tracks my approach without tensing. “Today, I don’t.”
She accepts this with a nod. No argument. No lecture about self-care or conservation of resources.
Pragmatic. Fucking perfect for this.
The thought surfaces before I can stop it. I shove it down, bury it beneath threat calculus and strategic evaluation.
“We need to move.” I scan the courtyard’s three visible exits. The eastern wall is rubble now—the Executor’s entrance yesterday left a gap wide enough to drive a cart through. The main entrance remains intact. The third exit leads through flooded underground chambers that would slow us dangerously. “The informant’s body will attract scavengers. Some of them might be worth worrying about.”
“Where?”
“Ice-scarred plains. Southeast.” I’ve been calculating routes since midnight. “The terrain will make coordinated attacks difficult. Fewer ambush points. Better sight lines.”
She doesn’t ask how far or how long. Doesn’t complain about leaving before proper rest or proper food. She rises, gathers her minimal supplies, and moves toward the main exit.
I fall into step beside her.
We’rethree miles from the shrine when I sense the wrongness.
My spine goes rigid. Every hunting instinct I possess screams alert, flooding my system with adrenaline that tastes like copper on the back of my tongue. The sensation is familiar now—the particular frequency of god-made creatures, that signature of divine power twisted into monstrous form.
“Kaster.”
Soreia’s voice carries warning. She feels it too, though differently. Her magic responds to things that refuse to end properly. Mine responds to things that need killing.
Same threat. Different detection methods.
“I know.” I scan the landscape ahead. Rolling hills stripped bare by old battles. Scattered rock formations that could hide anything up to moderate size. No movement visible.
But a presence lurks. Watching. Waiting.
Where?
