“Does it comfort you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She gives me that sharp look again, the one that should not feel like sunlight against stone. Then she starts moving. Not waiting for me to lead, but also not reckless.
She tests each step before giving it weight. Adjusting to the new danger faster than many warriors would. Her body is tired, underfed, angry. Still, she learns.
The open flats stretch around us. The sky waits overhead. I follow beside her, close enough to stop her if the ground answers again, far enough that she can pretend I am not guarding every breath she takes.
The lie helps her move. For now, I allow it. Behind us, the hollow where her boot stood sinks another finger-width without a sound.
9
SERA
The hollow sinks behind us without a sound, but I don’t look back. Looking back is for people who can afford to spend fear twice.
I keep moving, each step placed soft over dust, stone, betrayal. The first sun edges higher, bleeding red gold across the flats. Heat wakes in layers. First from the air. Then from the stones. Then from the ground itself, crawling up through my boots as if Tajss has teeth below and patience above.
Kavor walks beside me. It should bother me less each time he does it, but it doesn’t. Beside is a dangerous place. Beside means he can see too much without turning his head. Beside means I can see him without admitting I’m looking.
The open flats stretch around us, wide and brutal under the brightening sky. Every time the ruin ribs fall away and nothing stands near his shoulder, his silence changes. I don’t think it’s fear. Kavor doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would know what to do with fear if it clawed into his throat, but something in him hardens in the open. I file it away with the other things I don’t understand. Yet.
“The basin rim is there,” I say, keeping my voice low.
He follows the line of my gesture. “How far?”
“Too far if you stomp. Manageable if you don’t.”
“I do not stomp.”
“You are the size of a wall that learned opinions.”
His gaze cuts toward me. I keep my eyes on the ground. One stone. Dark seam. Shallow dip. Pale gravel to avoid. Powder crust to avoid. Long black shard, safe unless it sings under pressure.
The City teaches its children numbers before stories. How many breaths to the next shadow. How much water for a fever. How long a body can work after dizziness starts. How to tell heat shimmer from actual movement. How to see death before it grows dramatic enough for fools.
This land doesn’t kill loudly first. It waits for arrogance. Kavor’s foot comes down near a pale sheet of stone.
“Not there,” I say.
He stops before putting weight on it. He’s good. And he listens. I narrow my eyes.
“What?” he asks.
“You stopped.”
“You said not there.”
“Yes, but you stopped immediately.”
“Was that not the purpose?”
“You don’t have to sound reasonable about it.”
His mouth doesn’t move, but something almost moves in his eyes. I point with two fingers.
