Competence without control. It grates more than defiance ever did because I cannot keep my attention from coming back to her, which is dangerous.
After a time—long enough that sweat gathers at my neck and the air tastes sharper—she moves closer, voice low so it doesn’t carry.
“You’re favoring stone,” she says.
“Yes.”
“We’ll lose time.”
“Yes.”
She exhales slowly and shields her eyes to look out. The desert is empty. Nothing but rolling dunes for as far as the eye can see.
“You expect the wind to shift,” she says, lowering her hand. I glance at her, surprised despite myself. Beads of sweat roll down her face. Her skin is tinged red, her hair damp and matted. “From the south,” she continues. “The air feels wrong behind us.”
I study the horizon again, reassessing. The shimmer there is faint, but it’s present—heat bending light just enough to mask distance.
“You feel it,” I say.
“I’ve learned to trust patterns. Children teach you that,” she says, shrugging.
Fair. I adjust our route by degrees—not abandoning stone, but not clinging to it either. The compromise is silent, but she notices. Illadon does too.
“If the wind comes,” he says quietly, “the stone will break it before it reaches us.”
I nod once. “And if it doesn’t?”
“Then we didn’t waste strength running from shadows,” he replies.
I huff a short breath before I can stop myself. Illadon stares at me for a long moment with a deep frown, deciding if I’m making fun of him or not. I give him a sharp nod so he knows that was not my intent. A smile ghosts over his lips.
Rverre hums again, low and steady, the sound threading between our steps. It feels like the ground beneath us warms in response. Impossible, but still it makes my scars itch and my instincts tighten.
We crest a shallow rise, and the land beyond dips unexpectedly, sand giving way to a wide basin of packed earth and scattered rock. We come to a halt as I stare at it. It’s too exposed.
I scan. Nothing moves. There is no sound beyond wind and heat. Talia waits at my side, letting me decide what our next move is.
“Rverre?” I ask, hoping she might point us in a different direction.
She steps between Talia and I, staring off at the horizon, seeing things that none of us can. She tilts her head, emerald eyessparkling brightly. She flaps her wings and her tail twitches, tossing sand around.
“This is the way,” she says at last, disappointment in her voice.
I frown but nod. This journey is about following her lead, even if it is dangerous.
“We cross,” I say finally. “But we don’t linger.”
“Agreed,” Talia says, no argument or challenge present.
We descend into the basin, spacing tight enough to protect without crowding. My awareness stretches thin across too much open ground, every instinct screaming for stone that isn’t there.
Rverre falters once—just a misstep—but Illadon steadies her instantly, hand light at her elbow, already easing her weight back into balance before panic can take hold. Talia doesn’t rush in. She watches and trusts, letting it happen.
Something in my chest tightens—not fear. Something worse. Respect.
Once we reach the bottom I hurry us across, picking a patch among the scattered rocks and small boulders. Fortunately we make it across without incident. The basin releases us as quietly as it accepted us, stone rising again on the far side like a reprieve we didn’t earn.
On the far side I ground myself by pressing my palm to rock until my breath steadies. Talia glances at me, then deliberately looks away. Does she know? Does she sense my fear?
