My hands curl into fists at my sides. I turn back to Korr.
“If anything happens to him?—”
“It won’t,” he says.
“You don’t get to promise that.”
“No,” he agrees. “I get to stand between him and what tries.”
The anger doesn’t vanish, but it shifts—compressing into something sharper and more dangerous.
“This isn’t over,” I tell him.
“No,” he says quietly. “It isn’t.”
It feels like all of the camp has gone still around us. The packs are ready, lines are drawn, and the children watch with eyes far too aware. The sun crests higher over the valley wall. And suddenly, whether I like it or not, the shape of this journey has changed.
Jolie stands with Rverre, arms wrapped tight around her daughter, forehead pressed to hers. Calista stands very still, hands folded together as if movement might undo her. Korr steps away, deliberately giving space. I don’t thank him for it. Instead, I turn back to Illadon.
“Come with me,” I say, keeping my voice low, but carefully making it not a command, keeping it a request.
He hesitates, then nods once. He follows me a short distance away, just far enough that the others become murmurs instead of witnesses. He plants the lochaber beside him and waits, posture straight, chin lifted. Too much like an adult bracing for judgment.
I crouch in front of him so we’re eye level.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say gently. “Not like this.”
“I know,” he replies.
The calm of it nearly unravels my resolve to get him to stay behind.
“This isn’t a lesson,” I continue. “This isn’t training. This is dangerous in ways you can’t plan for.”
“I can plan for some of them,” he says. “And the ones I can’t—Rverre will feel before I do.”
That makes my throat tighten.
“You can’t be responsible for that,” I say. “You shouldn’t have to be.”
“I already am.”
I shake my head. “No. You’re her… friend. That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to her,” he says quietly.
I look at him, really look this time. The set of his shoulders. The way his wings twitch, restrained, like he’s holding something back on purpose. He’s not afraid of the desert, of Korr, or even of me. He’s afraid of staying.
“Your mother is terrified,” I say softly.
“I know.”
“And you’re still choosing this.”
“Yes.”
I swallow. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drifts past me, toward where Rverre is still pressed against Jolie, small and fierce and certain all at once.
