They broke camp later than planned.
Not because anyone overslept—no one really had—but because Kara stood longer than usual studying the route ahead, comparing it against the map one more time before finally folding it away.
"We're changing approach," she said. "We'll angle east first. It's longer, but it avoids the fault line."
Xander glanced at the sky—what little of it they could see between stone walls. "Longer how long?"
"Enough," Kara replied.
That was answer enough.
They moved out in a staggered formation, spacing tighter than before. Elara scouted ahead, wind brushing low across the ground, testing stability before each push. Luna stayed near the center, hands rarely still, adjusting straps, checking seals, redistributing weight without comment.
Drake noticed when his pack felt different.
Not lighter exactly—but rearranged.
He didn't say anything.
The eastern route held at first. The footing was steadier, the slope less aggressive. For a while, it almost felt like progress.
Almost.
Then Elara stopped again, lifting a hand. "We can't take this ridge," she said. "It looks solid, but it won't bear sustained weight."
Kara grimaced. "Alternate?"
Elara shook her head. "Not without backtracking."
"How far?" Xander asked.
Elara didn't answer immediately. That alone was enough.
Kara closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. "All right. We backtrack to the split."
Xander exhaled slowly. "That's going to cost us."
"Yes," Kara said. "It is."
They turned around.
The climb back was worse than the descent had been. Heat pooled thicker along the walls, and the stone radiated it back at them in uneven waves. Xander muttered under his breath as he hauled himself up a ledge that had felt trivial an hour earlier.
Halfway up, Luna stumbled.
Not a fall—just a misstep—but enough that Kara turned sharply. "You okay?"
"Yes," Luna said quickly. Too quickly.
Drake was already moving, steadying her by the elbow. She righted herself, then gently but firmly withdrew her arm.
"I'm fine," she repeated. "Just tired."
Kara studied her for a second, then nodded. "Short break. Two minutes."
Xander dropped his pack immediately. "I'm calling it now—this canyon is cheating."
No one laughed.
As they rested, Elara crouched near Kara, voice low. "We're burning more water than expected."
"How much more?" Kara asked.
Elara hesitated. "Enough that we'll need to ration if this keeps up."
Kara's jaw tightened. She glanced at the packs—at Drake's, then Luna's—then back to Elara. "We adjust now," she said. "Not later."
She straightened. "No more unnecessary pushes. We stop forcing pace."
Drake opened his mouth, then stopped himself.
Don't compensate.
They moved again.
By the time they reached the split, the canyon light had shifted—subtly, but unmistakably. Shadows stretched longer along the walls, and the heat took on a heavier quality, clinging instead of radiating.
Xander checked the time marker etched into his wristband and frowned. "We just lost our window."
Kara looked at him. "Which one?"
"The thermal lull," he said. "We were supposed to cross the next stretch before the vents cycle up."
Silence settled.
"And now?" Elara asked.
Xander shrugged. "Now we wait it out. Or we cross hot."
Kara exhaled slowly. "We wait."
Drake felt it then—not pressure, not fear—but the unmistakable weight of consequence.
They hadn't been attacked.
They hadn't made a mistake.
They had simply taken too long.
As they settled into another unscheduled rest, Luna knelt beside the packs again, redistributing water with quiet efficiency. This time, Drake noticed exactly how much she gave him.
Less than before.
She caught his eye and shook her head slightly—not a warning, not an apology.
Just a fact.
Drake leaned back against the stone, staring down the path they'd already walked twice.
Nothing catastrophic had happened.
But something had been spent.
And it wasn't coming back.
----------
Back on Earth, the eastern ward recalibrated for the third time that day.
The change was minor—well within acceptable variance—but it was enough to draw a pause from the scribe monitoring the lattice. She frowned at the display, then tapped the crystal to refresh it.
The numbers settled again. Still off.
She glanced toward the open platform where Veylan stood, arms folded behind his back, eyes on the horizon.
"Sir," she said carefully. "The return window closed an hour ago."
Veylan didn't turn. "Expected deviation?"
"Yes. But…" She hesitated. "The deviation hasn't corrected."
Sylis stepped closer, eyes flicking over the readouts. "It's holding steady."
Ryn crossed her arms. "Meaning?"
"Meaning they didn't miss the window," Sylis said. "They moved past it."
That earned Veylan's attention. He turned slowly, gaze sharp but controlled. "Past how far?"
Sylis adjusted the projection, expanding the range. "Not enough to trigger an alert. Enough that if we wait much longer, the system will stop categorizing it as delay."
"And start categorizing it as?" Ryn asked.
Sylis didn't answer immediately. "Drift."
Veylan studied the display in silence. The ward was stable. The academy was calm. Nothing suggested immediate danger.
Which was precisely what troubled him.
"Continue passive observation," he said at last. "No escalation."
Ryn frowned. "Still?"
"Yes," Veylan replied. "If they're compensating, interference will only make it worse."
Sylis inclined his head. "Understood."
As the others returned to their stations, Veylan stepped back to the railing. The stone beneath his hand was warm—just as it always was.
Still, he noticed it.
—
The canyon did not offer relief when Drake opened his eyes.
They'd waited out the thermal cycle in silence, broken only by the hiss of vents farther down the pass. When Kara finally gave the signal to move, it felt less like progress and more like permission.
They crossed hot.
Not recklessly—but without the margin they'd hoped for.
Elara went first, wind bracing each step, flattening heat currents just long enough for solid footing. Xander followed, jaw clenched, lightning kept tightly leashed as he moved. Kara anchored the rear, eyes never leaving the walls.
Drake stayed in the middle.
The stone beneath his boots felt different now. Not unstable—predictable, in a way that made him uneasy. Like the canyon had learned their pace.
Halfway across, Xander stumbled, boot skidding against slick rock. Drake reached out without thinking, catching him by the arm.
They steadied together.
"Thanks," Xander muttered, shaking out his leg. "Ground's got attitude today."
Drake didn't respond.
On the far side, Luna pressed her palm briefly to the stone, then withdrew it. "Heat spike's fading," she said. "We won't get another like that for a while."
Kara nodded. "Then we don't waste it."
They moved again, slower now—not from caution, but fatigue.
As they rounded the bend, the canyon opened just enough to reveal a marker etched into the rock face ahead. Weathered. Faint. Easy to miss.
Elara stopped short. "That's not supposed to be here."
Kara stepped forward, studying it. "Survey marker," she said. "Old."
"How old?" Xander asked.
"Older than the last three records," Kara replied.
Drake frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning we're not where the map thinks we are," Kara said.
Silence followed.
Drake looked back down the path they'd taken—the same path they'd walked twice, the same stone, the same bends.
Except now, it felt further away than it should have.
They hadn't gone in circles.
They'd gone forward.
Just not cleanly.
Kara folded the map and didn't reopen it.
"We make camp," she said. "Then we reassess."
No one argued.
As they settled in, Drake sat apart, gaze fixed on the marker ahead. It wasn't threatening. It wasn't ominous.
It was simply proof.
They were still moving.
But the canyon had started keeping track.
And for the first time since they'd entered, Drake understood that whatever had been spent wasn't just time or water.
It was margin.
And margin, once gone, didn't warn you before the next cost arrived.