---
The mountain's crown tasted like sun-baked iron and distance. From the High Walk he could see the faint line of dust where the desert gathered to hide feet. Alka's shadow crossed him once and vanished. Skyweaver's ribbon flickered to the east where she danced the edge of wind and stone.
"There," Silvershadow said, stepping up out of nowhere to Kai's left. He did not point. His eyes did it. "Main weight tries the obvious shelf. Ten to one they slap the Night Stair first. The rest set nets and tell each other it's scouting."
"Good," Kai said. "Let them."
Azhara slid in on his right, all business, dried blood still under one fingernail. "My knives are a little lonely," she said, voice thin with held-down heat.
"Make them wait," Kai told her. "They'll taste better."
She grinned with too many teeth for a human, then sobered. "You hold the center?"
"I am the center," he said. It was not swagger. It was logistics.
