Page 74 of Iron Beneath the Snow

“And you don’t alter for it.”

She let out a quiet breath, something close to a half-laugh that didn’t quite become one.

“I did,” she said. “At first.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

“What changed?”

She set the branch aside, flexing her fingers once before answering.

“No one marked it. No correction for taking space, no approval for yielding it—nothing to push against.”

She met his gaze again.

“It’s harder to measure where you stand when no one marks it for you.”

Soren studied her without interrupting, without redirecting.

“And where do you think you stand?”

Eira lowered her gaze to the blade in her hand, turning it slightly so the edge caught the light.

“I don’t think that matters here in the same way.”

“Explain.”

She hesitated—not searching for the answer, but deciding how much of it to give.

“In Frostvein, you’re placed before you move,” she said. “Everything follows from that.”

Her thumb brushed along the handle, not quite touching the edge.

“Here, you move first. Placement comes after—if it comes at all.”

She glanced up.

“That removes the structure I’m used to.”

“And replaces it with what?”

She held his gaze.

“Responsibility.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the sound of the blade against wood filling the space again, steady and grounding.

“You spoke yesterday as if you expected resistance,” he said.

“I expected friction,” she corrected, quieter now.

“And now?”

She drew the blade down once more, slower this time.

“It’s different.”

“How?”