Marcus drummed his thick, ink-stained fingers against the map. “It’s a bit late to worry about that now. We’ve planned for this. We hit them fast, cut the horses loose, block their retreat. It won’t matter how shiny their armor is if they’re in the mud with the rest of us.” He looked to Kael for backup, but Kael offerednothing—just that slow, considered nod that somehow made it feel as if the plan was inevitable, as if it had already happened and the only question was which of them would still be breathing to recall it.
The plan was then repeated, precise, economical, practiced: who would be on the attack team, who would be on the team to carry the loot. Finn was assigned to sweep the riverbank for traps, which he accepted with a theatrical bow. “If I don’t come back, my debts die with me,” he quipped. A few of the rebels grinned, but Maven only rolled his eyes.
Kael stood silent through it all. When he eventually spoke, it was only to clarify: “No prisoners. We don’t have the hands to guard them. We’re ghosts. In and out.”
He said it with a finality that made Alina’s breath scrape in her throat. She wondered if he could see how his words made her skin crawl, or if it was just another necessary cruelty. She wondered, too, what would happen if one of their own was captured. Would there be a rescue attempt? Would they be left?
Maven’s gaze swept across the crowd, lingering on Alina a heartbeat longer than it had to. “And the princess? Where do we put her?” His voice was light, but the question was a stone dropped in still water.
Silence, again. Alina felt every eye flick toward her, then away, as if looking too long might risk contamination. Kael’s jaw tensed. “She stays with me. As discussed and decided before.”
A stir of discomfort rippled, but was quickly buried beneath the next round of orders.
Seraphina’s posture remained solid, unshakeable as she took in the decision. “If she slows you down—”
“She won’t,” Kael said.
ButAlina didn’t trust the promise. She watched the faces—Seraphina’s tight but unreadable, Marcus’s resigned, Tamsin’s impassive, Finn’s bright and brittle—and she knew that even if she survived the night, she’d never quite belong to the tribe of those who had bled for the cause. She was still a guest here, fragile and replaceable, and that’s all she ever would be—and everyone knew it.
The briefing limped to an end. Marcus rolled up the map and tucked it away and the circle loosened. He looked up at Alina and offered a quick smile, small but genuine. She was thankful for the kindness. The others drifted to their pre-battle rituals: Maven huddled with the youngest conscripts, leading them in a muttered prayer; Tamsin stared into the woods; Finn fished a battered deck of cards from his pocket and tried to spark a game, but the others mostly ignored him, too wound up to pretend at normalcy.
Kael moved to the outer ring, scanning the tree line with a predator’s patience. Alina felt the urge to follow, to ask him what role she was meant to play, but her feet rooted her to the spot. What had happened between them?
Above the camp, the stars brightened, unblinking and remote. She hugged her arms tight, feeling the chill settle in the gaps between her bones. Finn wandered over with a pair of thick gloves, offering them to Alina.
“Not exactly palace couture, but it beats frostbite,” he said. “You holding up?”
She slipped the gloves on, surprised at how soft they felt. “I’ll survive,” she said, then added, “Thanks.”
He nodded, then leaned in. “Word to the wise: don’t lose them or you will be the quartermaster’s personal slave for a week.”
Alina almost laughed. “Noted.”
Finn’s smile was a balm to her nerves. “We all get jittery before a job,” he said, voice lowered. “You want company, you know where to find me.”
He drifted off before she could think of a response. Alina watched him go, then drifted toward the less crowded edge of camp, where the woods started up again, thick with the damp smell of moss and old rot. She craved the quiet, the illusion that she could think straight if only the world would stop pressing in.
She wasn’t alone for long.
Kael found her, as he always did. She heard his footsteps before she saw him: deliberate, measured, a rhythm designed not to startle.
“Trying to escape?” he asked, tone gentler than she expected.
She didn’t turn. “I’m not much use right now. Figured I’d get out of the way.”
He came up beside her, close enough for their shoulders to almost brush. “You could be resting.”
She snorted. “As if anyone could ever rest before a raid. Or are you telling me that you do?”
A brief pause. “No, I don’t.”
In the gloom, Kael’s face was half shadow, half golden where the embers backlit his jaw. Alina looked at him, and the hurt from the infirmary came back raw.
He hadn't visited her in the infirmary, hadn't checked on her, not even left a note. In the days that had followed he had always been busy, always somewhere off. She'd pretended not to care, but now, standing here, she wanted to smack him in the face.
“I heard you asked for me,” he said, after a while.
She shrugged, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on her glove. “Maybe I did. Maybe I just wanted to know if you were still alive.”
