“You know them.” I make it a statement, not a question.
She pulls back from the edge, won’t meet my eyes. “I know they’re dangerous. That’s enough.”
“Is it?”
“K, please. We need distance. We need—” She stops, swallows hard. “We just need to go.”
I study her face.
I could press. Could demand she trust me with whatever truth she’s protecting.
But movement catches my eye—one of the operatives turning, radio raised. Speaking to someone I can’t see.
Decision point.
I rise, pull Mara to her feet. “We go. But not back. They search the area we came from.”
“Then where?”
The certainty arrives fully formed, clear as the path beneath my feet.
“There is a place,” I say. “Beyond the high pass. A settlement. Safe.”
I don’t know how I know this. The knowledge simply is—as real as my heartbeat, as certain as my name is lost.
Mara stares at me. “A settlement? Your home? Your village?”
I test the certainty, searching for detail. Find only impression: stone buildings, wood smoke, a valley sheltered between peaks that mirror each other. Familiar but forgotten.
“Perhaps,” I say carefully. “I do not remember it clearly. But I know it exists. And I know—” I pause, searching for words that won’t sound insane. “I know it is where we should go.”
“Okay.” She nods quickly. “Yes. Okay. If you know where it is, we go there. Someone might recognize you. Might help.”
The relief in her voice is unmistakable.
She wants this. Wants me to reach this place I somehow know exists.
Why?
What does she think waits there? What does she hope will happen when we arrive?
I file this observation alongside the others. Pattern without meaning. Pieces that don’t yet connect.
“Then we move,” I say. “Quickly. Before they expand their perimeter further.”
I take her hand—not carrying her this time, but guiding. She follows without protest, and we navigate away from the operatives below. Higher into terrain that grows increasingly difficult.
Mara struggles. I see it in her breathing, the way her stride falters. But she doesn’t complain. Doesn’t ask to stop.
Pride. Or fear. Possibly both.
After another hour, she stumbles.
I catch her before she falls, one arm around her waist. Feel her wince despite her attempt to hide it.
“Enough,” I say. “You need rest.”
“I can keep—”
