Instead, his gaze shifts past me, scanning the pass again, returning to the present with the same precision he applies to everything else.
“Confidence like that tends to get people killed,” he says.
“Only when they hesitate.”
“And you don’t.”
“No.”
Another pause, but then he said quieter:
“You should.”
I smile at that.
“Worried about me?”
“I’m evaluating risk.”
“Of course you are.”
I can see him fighting a smile.
“And you’re currently at the top of it,” he adds.
“Good,” I say. “That means you’re paying attention.”
His gaze flicks back to mine, something sharper returning for just a second.
“I always am.”
The wind shifts through the pass, carrying sound differently here, sharper, more contained, and I let my focus stretch outward, not fully into the future, just enough to confirm the alignment.
They’re coming.
I can feel it in the way the path settles, the way possibility tightens again, narrowing into something inevitable.
“Stay back,” I say quietly.
That gets a reaction.
“I’m not?—”
“Not far,” I cut in, finally turning just enough to meet his gaze. “Just long enough.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something in it hardens, not resistance, not refusal, something more measured.
“You’re taking the lead,” he says.
“I already did.”
A pause. Then he nods once. Not agreement. Permission.
I turn back toward the pass just as the first movement appears at its edge, subtle at first, then clearer as three figures step into view, their positioning tight, controlled, their movements certain enough that confirms everything I’ve already seen.
Zethon.
They stop the moment they see us. We’re exactly where they didn’t expect anyone to be. One of them shifts slightly, not quite stepping forward, but enough to take control of the formation.
