Vaelor didn’t comment. He slowed his pace just enough to stay beside her instead of in front, close without crowding her space. He understood that kind of stubbornness. Had been shaped by it.
The illusions had drained her. He knew it as surely as he knew the feel of ice beneath his boots. Reliving something painful, being trapped inside it with no way out, left a deeper fatigue than any physical challenge. The body could recover. The mind took longer.
The wind whispered across the snowfields, carrying silence instead of threat, but neither of them spoke. Words felt unnecessary. Too heavy. For now, it was enough to keep moving forward—together, even when neither of them wanted to admit they needed the other.
Mara slowed suddenly.
Vaelor noticed at once. He turned, half-expecting danger, but she was crouching near a cluster of rocks partially buried in the snow. She brushed ice aside with her glove and picked one up—a smooth, flat stone streaked with veins of silver and gray.
For a moment, she just held it.
Then she slipped it into her pack.
Vaelor frowned. “Why carry unnecessary weight?”
She glanced up at him, surprised, then smiled faintly. “My father always collected rocks from the places we traveled.”
That wasn’t the answer he’d expected.
“He said every world leaves its mark,” she continued, rising to her feet. “That history isn’t just something you read about—it’s something you can hold. He kept shelves of them. Labeled, cataloged. Each one meant we’d been somewhere that mattered.”
Vaelor resumed walking beside her. “And you keep them too?”
“Not usually,” she admitted. “But… I don’t know. This place felt like one I wouldn’t forget. Good or bad.”
He considered that. A warrior carried trophies of battle. Weapons. Scars. But this was quieter. More enduring.
“You believe objects remember,” he said.
She shrugged. “I believe people do. The rocks just help.”
They walked on, the wind whispering over the ice. Vaelor found himself glancing once at her pack, then away again, unsettled by how such a small habit revealed so much about who she was—and who she’d been raised to become.
Another reminder that she was carrying more than survival gear into the Games.
And that some weights were worth bearing.
They reached the next campsite just before sunset, the lavender sky deepening toward dusk. Tents dotted the area, spaced carefully apart. Blaine was already at work, building a fire with practiced ease before turning his attention to his shelter.
Mara dropped her pack and unzipped it, reaching inside. Then she froze.
“What the hell?”
Vaelor turned. She was holding up her tent—if it could still be called that. The fabric was shredded, slashed clean throughmultiple places. He crossed the distance quickly and took it from her, examining the damage. There was no repairing it. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.
The look on Mara’s face twisted something inside his chest.
“Who would do this?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Vaelor said. But he would find out. Someone had sabotaged her deliberately.
“What’s going on?” Blaine asked, approaching with his own tent slung over his shoulder.
“Someone destroyed my tent,” Mara said.
“What asshole would do that?” Blaine snapped.
“It could have been anyone,” she said, frustration sharpening her tone.
