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"How did you know," she said. "Not just now, but with the others. The witch at the stall. You always know."

He blinked once, slowly, and pressed his head finally against her arm. She didn't have the answer. He didn't give it. But she put her hand on his scaled side; his heart raced. Idonea froze. He'd been afraid. He'd killed Elzhbeta because he couldn't let that happen.

She'd spent years telling herself she didn't particularly like him. She'd been wrong about that.

Idonea let out a slow breath and forced herself to think. She couldn’t linger, not with a body that Templars might stumble across. If they found her here, blood dripping from her own wounds and Elzhbeta’s corpse in the snow, there would be no explaining herself.

She scanned the clearing. The aftertaste of sulphur clung heavy in the air, tickling her throat.

Her stomach turned. The daemon’s presence remained still.

She glanced back at Elzhbeta’s body. Even in death, her lips were parted as if in a whisper. Idonea leaned closer, desperate, searching for anything. Her fingers brushed against the witch’s cloak, damp with blood, and found a satchel at her hip. She tore it open with shaking hands.

Inside was chalk, bone dust, and a folded scrap of parchment sealed in wax, but it bore no crest. She stuffed it into her cloak as Lance hissed again, wings flaring. His gaze was fixed on the tree line.

Idonea froze.

Shadows moved between the branches, too many to be mere animals. Templars.

Her pulse spiked. She looked down at the corpse.

“No time,” she said. “We need to move.”

Lance uncoiled, his scales shimmering brighter, as if in agreement.

Idonea drew her cloak tight, wiping the worst of Elzhbeta’s blood from her hands onto the snow, and rose to her feet. She spared one last glance at the corpse, who still carried secrets she desperately needed. Her teeth clenched. Secrets she would've to unearth another way.

Lance darted ahead, his body weaving between trees. Behind them, voices carried, sharp, clipped, and growing closer.

“Over there!”

“Circle wide.”

Idonea pushed harder, each inhale a stab in her ribs. She ducked low, using the trees for cover. Lance streaked past her ankles, darting up a trunk, his wings rippling as he sprang to another branch, his body silent but for the faint whistle of air.

She darted left, sliding between two thick trunks. Her boots skidded on ice, and she barely caught herself against the bark.

The forest swallowed her.

Lance slithered ahead, pausing at intervals, his gaze flashing back to her, urging her on. He moved like an arrow, as if he knew exactly where to go. She didn’t question it and followed.

At last, the voices of the Templars quieted, swallowed by the woods. She collapsed against a tree, snow spraying up around her. Lance coiled at her feet, his tongue flickering.

“Good work,” she said, reaching down to touch his scales. They pulsed faintly, still humming with residual Current.

Her head dropped back against the bark, heart hammering.

A coldness swept over her body. Lance let out a low hiss. She had to get back to the cottage before any of the Templars thought to check on her presence. If she was absent, Kitsa would likely be in trouble too. Any leniencies granted, removed.

She pushed off the tree and limped forward, Lance gliding at her side, his eyes glowing in the dark. The snow muffled their passage, and behind them, the forest returned to silence.

By the time she neared the village perimeter, her legs shook with exhaustion. She dropped into a crouch, scanning. Two Templars were stationed by the fountain. Their breath plumed in the cold, their hands loose on their weapons. At least they were not at the door.

Though, still too close. Idonea’s jaw tightened. She couldn’t let them see her bloodied cloak, the cut at her wrist, or Lance.

She whispered, “Stay close.”

The Iaculus slipped into the dark, his scales blurring against the snow.