Chapter 75 – Ash in the Pines
The fire was nothing but embers when Kairo woke.
He was used to waking in pieces—the slow return of hearing first, then the weight of his own body, then the awareness of the world beyond himself.
The forest was still. Too still.
He slid a hand toward the pistol beneath his coat before opening his eyes. The first thing he saw was Elira, already awake, crouched at the edge of the hollow. Her hair was loose, curling slightly from the damp, her breath a pale cloud in the cold. She was watching the ridge.
"Footsteps," she said softly without turning. "Two minutes ago. Light. Careful."
Kairo's boots didn't crunch when he moved; years of practice made sure of that. He joined her, eyes scanning the shadows between the pines.
Then he caught it—just the faintest shift of movement where the dark was a fraction darker. Not Vale's uniformed men. Hunters, maybe. Or scouts.
"Pack up," he murmured.
Elira didn't ask questions. The blanket was rolled, the box strapped, and the fire scattered in seconds. They moved low through the trees, using the slope to mask their line of retreat.
He didn't lead them straight away from the ridge. Instead, they curved west, parallel to whoever was tracking them, staying just far enough to avoid a direct cross but close enough to keep the threat in sight.
When they reached the narrow break in the trees where the old road cut through, Kairo stopped. "We turn here."
Elira frowned. "That takes us closer to the coast. You said—"
"I said that's why they won't expect it," he cut in. "If they think we're running for a ship, they'll shift resources to the harbors. That leaves Vale's inland supply lanes softer."
She fell into step beside him, her voice low. "You plan to hit his supply lines?"
Kairo's eyes stayed on the dark track ahead. "I plan to remind him that every step he takes toward me costs him twice as much."
They made good time through the morning, but by midday the clouds thickened, the light taking on a flat, gray weight. Snow began to fall—light at first, then heavier, swirling around them and muting the world into shades of white and steel.
By the time they spotted the cabin, their coats and hair were dusted with it.
It was small, half-hidden among the pines, smoke trailing thin from the crooked chimney. The roof sagged under years of weather, but the walls still stood. A solitary figure was stacking wood outside—an older man, broad-shouldered despite the stoop in his posture.
Kairo's hand twitched toward his coat out of habit, but Elira gave a small shake of her head. "If he meant trouble, we'd have heard it by now."
They approached openly. The man straightened, resting an arm on the axe handle. His eyes went first to Kairo, then to the box strapped to his side, lingering there a fraction too long.
"You're a long way from the coast," the man said. His voice was rough, but not unfriendly.
"Passing through," Kairo replied.
The man's gaze sharpened. "Passing through's not what Vale's men call it."
Kairo didn't flinch. "Vale and I have an arrangement."
"That so?" The man's lips twitched in something that might have been a smile. "Funny, I heard Vale's been losing men on the north road."
Snow hissed softly on the coals in the man's fire pit. Elira's fingers brushed against Kairo's sleeve, a quiet signal—He knows more than he's saying.
Kairo inclined his head slightly. "We need a place to wait out the weather."
The man studied him for a long beat before nodding toward the cabin. "You can have the loft. Don't light a fire unless you want company."
Inside, the cabin smelled of pine sap and woodsmoke. The loft was little more than a platform under the sloped roof, reached by a ladder worn smooth by years of use. They dropped their packs in the corner, the box close enough that Kairo's boot could touch it if he stretched his leg.
Elira peeled off her gloves, rubbing warmth back into her fingers. "You trust him?"
"I trust that he doesn't trust Vale either," Kairo said. "That's enough for now."
Below, they heard the man moving around, the steady rhythm of wood being split and stacked. Outside, the snow kept falling, blurring the world into a quiet that was almost too easy.
It was Elira who broke it. "You've been in this longer than I've been alive, haven't you?"
He glanced at her. "You don't know how long I've been in it."
Her mouth curved faintly. "Long enough to stop thinking about getting out."
Kairo didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. "Getting out isn't the hard part. Staying out is."
Her eyes held his. "And if you wanted to?"
"Wanting doesn't change the debt."
She didn't ask what debt. She didn't have to. She knew enough about men like him to know that the debts were rarely financial, and they were never forgotten.
By nightfall, the snow had stopped. The man offered them bread and a pot of stew that smelled better than it looked. Kairo took the first spoonful, his expression unreadable, then slid the bowl toward Elira.
They ate in silence until the man spoke again. "You should know there's been movement south of here. Vale's people. Not in uniform. The kind you don't see until it's too late."
Kairo's eyes lifted. "How many?"
"More than you'd like."
The old man's tone was flat, but there was weight behind it—a warning, not a threat. Kairo gave a short nod.
When they climbed to the loft again, Elira settled on her side, watching him strip and reassemble his pistol with methodical precision.
"You're not sleeping," she said.
"I will when it's safe."
She smirked faintly. "Which is never."
His gaze flicked to her, then back to the gun. "Exactly."
Kairo's hands moved with mechanical calm as he finished checking the pistol, each click and slide precise enough to make no sound above the steady creak of the loft's beams. Outside, the wind shifted, brushing through the pines in long sighs.
Elira lay on her side, chin propped on one palm, studying him. "You don't sleep much, do you?"
He didn't look up. "I sleep when there's someone to watch the door."
"And right now," she murmured, "that's only you."
He slid the magazine in, the metallic snap almost sharp in the quiet. "That's the problem."
Her brow furrowed slightly, not in offense, but in thought. "So you don't trust me to keep watch?"
His gaze lifted then, dark and steady. "Trust isn't the same as skill. You can watch. But watching isn't enough when they're close enough to smell the fire."
The words should have been cold. Instead, they came like an unwanted truth — one she didn't argue with.
They kept the lamp low, enough to sketch the edges of the room but not spill light through the gaps in the wood. Downstairs, the old man had gone quiet, the occasional crack of the firewood the only sound from below.
When the sound came, it was faint — a rhythm almost lost in the wind. Soft, deliberate crunches in the snow. Not one set. More.
Kairo's hand was on the pistol before he'd fully risen. He crouched at the edge of the loft, eyes on the door. Elira was already moving silently toward the ladder.
"No," he mouthed, holding a hand out. "Stay."
She froze, jaw tight, watching him descend like liquid shadow.
The knock was polite. Two taps, a pause, one tap more.
The old man's voice carried from the other side. "Cold night for visitors."
A second voice answered, low and too smooth. "Cold makes men willing to talk."
Kairo's spine went still. He knew that tone — not the man himself, but the type. Vale's men in plain clothes. Not soldiers. Not brutes. The ones who got information without breaking furniture.
The old man didn't open the door. "No one here to talk to you."
The smooth voice chuckled. "Then you won't mind if we check."
Kairo moved to the window at the side of the cabin. Through the slit in the shutters, he counted three in front. Shadows behind the pines hinted at at least two more.
Up in the loft, Elira watched him signal — a hand raised flat, then curling into a fist. Stay silent. No movement.
She sank lower against the wall, heart drumming in her ears. She didn't have to see them to know the type. She'd met enough in her life to recognize the sound of boots in snow when the men inside them had no intention of leaving without something.
The door gave a low groan when the first boot hit it. The old man swore under his breath, but didn't back away.
"I said—"
The second kick took the hinges. The wood splintered inward, the cold rushing into the cabin with the smell of wet pine and leather.
Three men stepped through. They were dressed plain, but their posture was too precise to be casual. One had his hands deep in his coat pockets — the exact way you did when you were holding steel close to the trigger.
"Evening," the smooth voice said again, this time from the front of the line. "We're looking for someone. Tall. Dark coat. Carries something he shouldn't."
The old man's eyes flicked toward the loft before he could stop himself. It was quick — less than a heartbeat — but Kairo saw it from the shadows.
The man in front followed the look.
Kairo stepped out before the man could signal. He didn't raise the pistol yet. He didn't have to.
"You've found him," Kairo said.
The three froze for half a breath — not in fear, but in recalculation. The smooth one's smile thinned. "Lord Kairo. Didn't expect to see you this far from your glass towers."
Kairo's expression didn't change. "You expected wrong."
One of the men shifted his weight. Kairo's pistol was suddenly up, sight leveled with the bridge of his nose.
"No," Kairo said evenly. "Don't."
The air went tight in the cabin. Elira was still in the loft, her hand on her dagger, every nerve screaming to move, to strike — but she stayed where she was, because this was his arena.
The smooth voice tried for control. "Vale doesn't like chasing his investments."
Kairo's mouth curved, though it wasn't close to a smile. "Vale should keep better track of them, then."
"You can't walk this road forever," the man said. "You've got weight on your shoulders. Some things aren't worth carrying."
Kairo's eyes narrowed. "This one is."
For a moment, neither side moved. The only sound was the wind sighing through the cracks. Then Kairo spoke again — low, final.
"You have until I count three to walk back out that door. If you don't, you'll be carried."
They didn't think he'd shoot. Not here. Not with witnesses. That was their mistake.
"One," he said.
The smooth voice flickered. The man glanced at the gun — and something in Kairo's eyes made his jaw tighten.
"Two."
The front man's hand twitched in a small wave, and the three backed toward the broken door. The shadows outside shifted, retreating with them.
Kairo didn't lower the pistol until they were beyond the tree line.
When he climbed back into the loft, Elira was still against the wall, her eyes sharp.
"You didn't kill them," she said quietly.
"Not yet," he replied.
Her gaze lingered on him, reading the calm in his face like it was something dangerous. Then she nodded once. "We should move before they circle back."
Kairo's jaw flexed. "We will. But first, I'm sending them a message."
She frowned. "From here?"
He reached for the small black case in his pack, snapping it open to reveal a thin set of components — transmitter, receiver, encryption unit.
"You don't just run from men like that," he said. "You remind them that chasing you costs them."
By the time the old man returned from checking the treeline, Kairo had sent his signal — a burst code that would find its way to one of his people in the city. The target wasn't Vale himself, but one of his mid-tier enforcers, the kind who liked to operate without protection.
"By dawn," Kairo said, meeting Elira's gaze, "they'll know I'm not running. I'm cutting back."
She watched him for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. "I don't know if you're trying to stay alive or just refusing to die on anyone else's terms."
His eyes didn't leave hers. "There's no difference."