The ground shifts again.
Heavier this time.
The brush behind them parts with a crack that splinters through the silence, and the minotaur steps through like it doesn’t notice the resistance at all. Its hooves sink into the earthwith a wet, heavy sound, its breath loud and slow as it scans us once, then stills.
And then?—
Him.
Krago steps into the space between them, not pushing forward, not asserting anything with force. He doesn’t need to. The way everything around him settles is enough.
“Well,” he says, his voice smooth, almost amused as his gaze lands on me. His head tilts slightly, like he’s confirming something he already knew. “That saves me the trouble of searching.”
Jarek shifts his weight, just slightly, his blade coming up a fraction higher. “We fight?” he whispers, not taking his eyes off the line in front of us.
I don’t answer right away.
Because if we fight?—
We lose.
“Run,” I say.
He turns his head toward me sharply. “What?”
“Run,” I repeat, louder this time, not looking at him. “Back to the village. Now.”
“And you?—”
“I’m right behind you,” I cut in.
That’s a lie.
He knows it.
I know it.
He hesitates anyway.
“Go,” I snap, sharper now, forcing him to move.
That does it.
They break.
Not clean.
Not coordinated.
Just fast.
Boots pounding against the ground as they sprint back the way we came.
The orcs don’t move to follow.
That’s when my stomach drops.
Because that means?—
