Morning came muted, the pale light seeping through the cabin's shutters in thin, dusty lines. The storm had passed sometime before dawn, leaving the air crisp and still. Outside, the forest smelled of rain and pine resin, each drop clinging like crystal to the branches.
Elira stirred first. She was still in the chair by the table, wrapped in Kairo's coat, its weight and faint trace of cedar grounding her. Her muscles ached from the night's push through the woods, but the ache was almost pleasant—proof she'd kept up, proof she was still here.
Kairo was by the window, leaning on the frame, his silhouette carved by the dim light. He was fully dressed, boots on, weapon belt secured, but there was a looseness to his stance that told her he'd been awake for hours, watching the treeline.
"You didn't sleep," she said, her voice still rough from the night's cold.
He glanced over, eyes unreadable. "Didn't need to."
"You always say that," she murmured, setting the coat aside. "One day, you're going to admit you're human like the rest of us."
That earned her a faint curve of his lips, but it vanished as quickly as it came. He turned back to the trees. "We can't stay here. By midday, someone will have traced the bodies."
She rose, stretching the stiffness from her limbs. "You think they'll find the cabin?"
"Not if we move soon. But I want to use the time we have."
"For what?"
His gaze finally locked on hers. "Planning. The shard is drawing too much attention—more than we calculated."
Her eyes flicked to the satchel by his side. The leather was worn, the strap darkened from the rain, but it seemed heavier than any bag that size had a right to be. She crossed the room, stopping just short of touching it. "So what's the plan?"
"We split our trail. Make it harder for them to know where we're heading."
Her brows rose. "Split? You mean…"
"You'll go with Mateo. I'll take the shard another way."
The words hit her like cold water. "No. That's not happening."
"Elira—"
"I said no," she cut in, heat rising in her voice. "We've been doing this together from the start. I'm not letting you walk into whatever trap they're setting without me there."
For a long moment, he just watched her. She half-expected him to push back, to pull rank, to remind her exactly whose world she was in. Instead, he exhaled slowly, like he'd been expecting this fight.
"You don't make this easy," he said finally.
"Good," she replied, crossing her arms. "You need someone who doesn't."
The smallest hint of a smirk touched his mouth, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then we move together. But you follow my lead—no questions, no hesitation."
She nodded once, sharply. "Deal."
They packed in silence, the kind of silence that wasn't empty but weighted with thought. Kairo moved with efficient precision—loading ammunition, checking the knife at his boot, securing the satchel with the shard as though it were made of glass and explosives all at once.
Elira, meanwhile, moved through the small cabin, erasing their presence. She kicked dirt over the fire pit, scattered the ashes in a tin basin, and wiped down the table where they'd eaten. She'd learned from him that in this life, what you left behind mattered as much as what you took.
When she stepped outside, the cold hit her lungs like a clean blade. The forest was still—no bird calls, no rustle of movement beyond the wind teasing the high branches. She glanced at the treeline. The pines stood like watchmen, their trunks dark from the rain, the forest floor damp and soft underfoot.
Kairo joined her, his presence pulling her focus without effort. "We'll take the ridge trail," he said. "Keeps us above the main path. If anyone's following, they'll expect us to stay low."
"And the safehouse?"
He adjusted the strap of the satchel. "Two hours. Maybe less, if we don't stop."
They set out, keeping to the narrow trail carved along the slope. The air was sharp and carried the scent of wet needles and cold stone. Each step crunched faintly over damp leaves, and every sound felt louder than it should have in the quiet.
Halfway up the ridge, Elira glanced back. The cabin had vanished from sight, hidden in the folds of the forest. For a moment, she felt the strange ache of leaving something behind—not the place itself, but the fragile sense of pause it had offered. Out here, there were no pauses.
Kairo's voice cut through her thoughts. "You keep checking behind us."
"Old habit," she said. "And right now, it doesn't feel old enough."
He didn't dismiss her concern. Instead, he slowed, letting her take a moment to scan the slope below. Nothing moved. No birds startled into flight, no flash of metal in the trees. But the hairs at the back of her neck didn't settle.
They pressed on. The trail narrowed further, forcing them to move single-file, his broad frame in front of her cutting the wind. She caught the faint scent of him—cedar, leather, and rain—something grounding amid the churn of her thoughts.
When they reached a bend in the trail, Kairo raised his hand and halted. Elira froze instantly. His head tilted slightly, listening.
She heard it too then—not the wind. A faint crunch, too heavy to be an animal, too steady to be random. It came from below them, pacing their climb.
"How many?" she whispered.
"Two. Maybe three."
She nodded once, her fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger strapped to her thigh.
Kairo stepped closer, his voice low enough that she felt it more than heard it. "We keep moving until I say stop. If they close the gap, I deal with them, you don't break cover. Understood?"
Her jaw tightened. "Understood."
They moved faster now, the forest tightening around them. The trail turned into a series of slick switchbacks, and the sound below followed—never closer than fifty meters, but never further.
By the time the ridge leveled out, clouds had begun to gather again, the light dimming into an early twilight. Kairo led her toward a cluster of boulders near the crest, motioning for her to stay low. From here, they could see the valley to the west—a thin line of road winding between the hills, empty for now.
The footsteps had stopped.
"That's worse," Elira muttered.
Kairo's gaze swept the trees below. "They're patient. And patience means they know we have something worth waiting for."
The wind shifted, and with it came a faint sound—metal against stone, deliberate and slow. It was a message, not an accident.
"They're letting us know they're still here," she said.
His eyes narrowed. "Then we'll let them know we are too."
He reached for the pistol at his side, checking the magazine with a practiced snap before sliding it back into place.
Elira's heartbeat steadied, not because the danger had passed, but because she knew—whatever came over that ridge, she wasn't facing it alone.