“That must be—” I start, but movement outside cuts me off.
A sound. Distant but distinct. The skittering of rocks, echoing off the mountainside.
K’s head snaps toward the cave entrance, his entire body going still in a way that sets off every alarm bell in my lizard brain. That’s not “listening carefully” stillness. That’s “detecting threat” stillness.
“What was that?” I whisper.
“I do not know.” He’s already moving, rising in one fluid motion and crossing to where a long staff leans against the wall. Not a walking stick. A weapon. “But it is close.”
Another sound. Closer this time. The crack of branches, the scatter of stones.
Fear slides cold fingers down my spine. Whatever made that noise isn’t friendly. And we’re trapped in a cave with one exit.
K positions himself between me and the entrance, staff held ready. The firelight catches his profile, throwing his features into sharp relief. For just a second, he looks like something out of myth—a warrior guarding the threshold.
“Do not move,” he says, and there’s no room for argument in his voice. “Keep back in the cave.”
The sound comes again.
Louder.
Closer.
Chapter 6
K.
I am outside before the echo fades.
The staff feels right in my hands—weight balanced, length familiar. I do not remember selecting it from the downed branches around the cave, but my grip knows where to settle.
The night is sharp. Clear. Stars crowd overhead in patterns I almost recognize.
I scan the slope. Listen.
Rock-fall. Distant but distinct. Something moving through scree below the ridgeline, dislodging stones in its passage.
Not human. The rhythm is wrong. Four-footed, purposeful but unhurried.
I track the sound east, toward the tree line where pine gives way to exposed rock. My breath fogs. The cold registers but does not concern me. I have been colder. I know this without knowing how.
There.
Movement between trees. Low to the ground. A shape darker than shadow.
Mountain lion.
The knowing arrives complete, instant. Male, judging by size. Old enough to be confident, young enough to still hunt these elevations. He has caught scent of something; perhaps the remains of fowl I cleaned earlier, perhaps the smoke from our fire.
Not a threat. Not yet. Just investigating.
I remain still, letting him pass. He moves with liquid grace, pausing once to test the air. His eyes catch moonlight—pale gold, bright.
Like mine.
The thought comes unexpectedly. I push it away.
He continues downslope, satisfied we are not prey worth pursuing. The sound of his passage fades into the larger silence of the mountain.
