Page 88 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“What’s the distortion?”

“Between our world and theirs?”

I nodded.

“Exponential, as long as we maintain our hold.”

“How exponential? How long is thirty minutes in umbratime?”

I barely contained my sarcasm toward whoever had coined the term.

Her expression turned wicked, her smile more threat than joy as it revealed a flash of pearly white teeth.

“Less than a blink, witchling. No time has passed since we embarked.”

I thought of the terrifying eternity I’d spent dragging mortals out of the shadows to escape Balorath. Of going head-to-head with the beast and using that confined space to my advantage.

It had felt like a lifetime.

A lifetime during which the bullet had yet to reach my Guardian only twenty yards away.

“And recovery?” I panted, already working to slow my pulse and breathing if that was what she was waiting for.

“About four hours. Five or six if you’re… well…”

Dark eyes raked over me in blatant assessment.

“Untrained,” I supplied, grimacing when she nodded. “Great.”

Scowling, I attempted the calculations before giving up.

“How far can we travel in thirty minutes?”

“In my experience?”

I said nothing.

She bobbed her head. “Three to four miles, depending on endurance.”

“Three to four…”

Terror bubbled up my throat as I grappled with the mathematics of catching trained warriors.

“And how far can the Grayshell party travel in one day?”

The wary tilt of Portia’s head offered little comfort.

“My soldiers can cover fifteen to twenty miles a day in terrain like this. Given their motivation to reconnect with their hierarchy…”

“Our recovery periods will have to remain mobile,” I deduced.

“Until our vessels demand sleep, which will be essential if we’re going to refill our wells.”

What she didn’t say was that we would have to sleep in shifts.

Something was moving through the shadows, and one of us would need to guard the other.

That meant idle time while Grayshell marched onward.