The question surprises me. Rverre swallows.
“Loud,” she whispers. “And… wrong.”
His jaw tightens and he nods once, as if that confirms something he already suspected.
“You don’t leave the camp without escort,” he says. “Even if something calls.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “You can hear it too?”
“No,” he says. “But I know what it sounds like when the ground lies.”
A chill slips down my spine. He releases her wrist but doesn’t move away, staying between her and the dunes. I reach her side and crouch beside her, resting my hand on her back.
“You did the right thing,” I tell her softly. “Next time though, you tell me first, okay?”
She nods, leaning into my touch.
The warrior straightens, rising in one smooth motion. Up close, he’s larger than I had realized. Dense muscle, ridged emerald green skin along his neck and jaw, scars etched deep enough to catch the light. He exudes danger, honed and contained.
“You’re her teacher,” he says, not a question.
“Yes.”
“She listens to you.”
“Usually.”
That earns me the briefest flicker of something like approval.
“Good,” he says. “Then keep her close. The edge isn’t safe.”
I glance past him, following his gaze out toward the open valley. The horizon feels too important to ignore.
“Is it ever?” I ask.
His attention snaps back to me, and for just a moment, the control cracks enough for me to see his discomfort. It’s not fear, I don’t think, but it’s definitely something making him strain.
“Not like this,” he says.
Behind us, raised voices drift from the camp. The fragile peace flexes again.
“I’m Talia,” I say, because it feels necessary. Because names matter when lines are being drawn.
He inclines his head slightly. “Korr.”
The name settles between us like a promise and a warning all at once. Rverre’s fingers tighten in my sleeve. Whatever she’s sensing isn’t finished with her. And neither, I suspect, is he.
We don’t make it back to the tent before the shouting catches us.
It swells as we walk, voices stacking on voices until the air is tight with it. Rverre stays pressed to my side, fingers still knotted in my sleeve, her steps slower and heavier. Whatever pulled her toward the valley hasn’t released her yet, but it’s loosened its grip.
Illadon walks on her other side, jaw set, eyes sharp, daring anyone to say a word. And, of course, someone does.
“There,” a man snaps as we pass between two clusters of tents. “That’s the one.”
I stop. Korr doesn’t. He moves ahead enough to put himself half a step ahead of us, his body angling so the open space behind is cut off. Not blocking. Guarding.
“Say it again,” he says mildly.
