“Among other factors.” Arax’s shoulders shift—a minute adjustment of tension that I’m learning to read. “The rituals provide catalysis. The underlying decay was already present.”
“Underlying decay from what?”
He doesn’t answer.
Another silence where information should be. Whatever he knows—whatever the Ashen Flight knows—about the source of this corruption, he’s not sharing. Yet.
The road narrows ahead, squeezing between two collapsed structures that might have been warehouses once.
Arax stops at the entrance to the gap and waits.
It takes me a moment to understand he’s waiting for me to go first. Not ahead of him—between the structures first, while he covers the approach from behind.
“I’m not going to run.” The words come out sharper than I intend.
“I know.”
“Then why?—”
“The narrowest point creates a chokepoint. If threats emerge from behind us, I can hold this position while you navigate through. If threats emerge ahead, you can retreat to my position while I address them.”
Tactical logic. Nothing more. Except his body is angled to shield my path of retreat, and his hands hover near weapons in a way that suggests readiness for violence rather than simple caution.
He’s protecting me. Has been protecting me since the moment he appeared at the ritual site, positioning himself between me and every potential threat without comment or explanation.
I move through the gap.
The space between the warehouses is tight enough that my shoulders brush the walls. Ash coats the surfaces, leaving gray smears on my clothing where I make contact. The corruption here is denser—I can taste it in the back of my throat, bitter and metallic and wrong.
Halfway through, the ground shifts.
Not collapse—not yet—but the precursor vibration that warns of imminent instability. I freeze, testing my weight distribution, calculating whether forward or backward offers better odds.
Heat at my back. Arax, suddenly close enough that I can feel the radiant temperature of his body.
“Forward.” His voice is low, barely above a whisper. “Three steps.”
I don’t hesitate.
Three steps carry me out of the gap and onto stable ground. Behind me, I hear the soft crunch of his footsteps following, and then the muted groan of the terrain stabilizing.
“How did you know?”
“The substrate resonates differently before collapse. You learn to feel it.”
“Or you die.”
“Yes.”
He moves past me, resuming his position at point.
I look away before he can notice me watching him.
