Page 52

Silence. "This is rude."

"Rowan," I call.

She turns. Her expression transforms. "Thank the gods."

She leaps across the narrow ravine rather than using the fallen log beside it. When she reaches us, she grips both our shoulders.

"You're alive." She says.

"So are you," Nyra smiles.

"Barely."

I glance at the marker. "How long were you waiting?"

"I don't know. An hour. Possibly six years." Rowan sighs.

"Did anything summon you?" Nyra asks.

"No."

I blink. "Then why did you stay?"

Rowan looks offended. "It was an instruction."

Nyra and I exchange a glance.

"What?"

I point toward the path. "Come with us."

The moment Rowan steps away from the ravine, the marker changes. PATIENCE WITHOUT JUDGMENT BECOMES INACTION. She stares at it.

"I hate this forest."

Nyra laughs. "That may be the first correct answer today."

Three students. Three bracelets pointing toward the same place. That cannot be accidental. The Academy is allowing teams to form. Or expecting them to.

Rowan takes the front, relying on her senses. I watch the trees. Nyra watches the ground. For the first time since the darkness fell, the Trial becomes almost manageable. Not easy. Shared. The distinction matters.

Rowan identifies two false voices before either of us reacts. Nyra notices roots beneath one path growing away from our direction, suggesting the forest itself is resisting it. I recognize a marker's wording as deliberately similar to Professor Vale's instructions but missing one crucial word. Alone, each clue might be useless. Together, they form decisions. Professor Vale's lesson returns. "There were four people in your circle." This time there are three. I intend to remember all of them.

The forest becomes quieter. At first, I assume we have simply moved farther from the other students. Then Rowan stops. Her head tilts. Nyra almost walks into her.

"What?"

Rowan raises one hand. We listen. No birds. There had been birds before? I try to remember Yes. Occasional calls high among the branches. Insects beneath the leaves. Wind moving through the canopy. Now— Nothing. Even our footsteps feel swallowed rather than heard. Nyra looks upward. The leaves are moving. There is no sound. A breeze touches my face. Still nothing.

"That's not possible," Rowan whispers.

Her voice sounds wrong here. Flat. Too close to the ear. Nyra reaches toward the nearest tree. Her fingertips touch the dark bark. She recoils immediately.

"What?" I ask.

"I don't know." Her pale face has lost what little color it held

"Is it dead?"