Her fingers twitch underneath mine. Around us, the circle tightens without my asking. Illadon closes with her. The rest are silent and attentive. Even the human children fall silent, drawn by something they don’t understand but feel anyway.
The shouting outside fades to a dull roar. Rverre breathes easier, but I don’t. Because whatever she’s sensing—whatever all of them are becoming—it doesn’t belong in a place this temporary.
And a certainty settles into me, quiet and terrible at the same time. Staying here isn’t keeping them safe. It’s holding them back.
I feel the shift before I see it. Rverre’s hand tightens, her fingers curling as if something has pulled on an invisible thread. She doesn’t look at me when she stands. She just… turns toward the opening the tent.
“Rverre,” I say, keeping my voice calm as I rise with her. “We’re not done yet.”
She doesn’t answer. She slips free of my hand and steps past the edge of the mats, moving with quiet certainty toward the tent flap. Illadon is on his feet.
“Hey,” he says, not loud, but sharp enough to cut. “Rverre.”
“Rverre!” Illadon lunges, but he hesitated just long enough to look at me first.
She doesn’t turn or slow. The tent flap lifts from the wind, sunlight pouring in too bright and too wide, and for a heartbeat I see nothing but the line of the dunes beyond—endless, exposed, unforgiving. Rverre walks straight into it.
“Rverre,” I call after her. “Wait.”
She doesn’t.
“Rverre!” Illadon yells running by the time I clear the tent.
Outside the camp is chaos in motion—people arguing, supplies stacked too high, tempers stretched thin. Rverre weaves through it all like she knows exactly where she’s going. She dodges a startled Cavern Zmaj, skirts a heated argument between humans, and keeps moving.
Toward the opening of the valley where it lets out onto the sprawling desert.
“Rverre, stop!” I call, forcing my way after her.
She doesn’t slow. We break free of the densest part of the camp, the ground sloping downward as the valley opens ahead of us. The noise behind fades, replaced by wind and space and too much sky.
This is where the camp ends. This is where everything falls away. Rverre reaches the edge and keeps going.
Illadon skids to a halt beside me, breath sharp. “She’s not listening.”
“No,” I say, heart pounding. “She’s answering.”
Rverre takes three more steps into the open valley, then a shadow detaches itself from the rocks ahead and moves fast. The Urr’ki warrior intercepts her before she can reach the dunes.
He drops to one knee in the sand, placing himself directly in her path, broad body a wall between her and the vast, exposed desert beyond. One hand closes gently—but unyieldingly—around her wrist.
“Easy,” he says, voice low and even. “You don’t go out there alone.”
Rverre freezes and for a terrifying second, I think she’s going to fight him. Instead, she looks at him. Her small head tilts to one side, studying him as Illadon and I run to catch up. The warrior doesn’t move. He doesn’t pull her back or push her away. He simply stays where he is, anchoring her with presence instead of force.
The desert stretches behind him, too wide, too empty, eternally deadly. He keeps his back angled toward a cluster of rock outcroppings, shoulders tight, head turning in precise increments as he scans the horizon. He’s counting threats. I approach slowly, hands open.
“She’s not running,” I say quietly. “She’s responding.”
His eyes flick to me. Sharp, assessing, gold-ringed pupils narrowing a fraction.
“Responding to what?” he asks.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But pulling her back hard will make it worse.”
He studies my face for a long beat, then looks back at Rverre.
“What do you feel?” he asks her.
