The sound was faint at first, like branches snapping in the wind. But the rhythm was wrong—too measured, too careful. Kairo froze, head turning slightly toward the slope they'd climbed hours ago.
Elira caught it too. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger. "They're tracking us."
Kairo's eyes stayed on the ridge line, calculating. "Not just tracking. They're pacing us. Keeping just close enough to know where we stop."
"Feretti's men?"
"Or someone who thinks they can sell us to him." His voice was low, edged with something darker than irritation.
He moved toward the narrow gap in the watchpost wall, scanning the trail below. The snow there was patchy, thinned by wind, but he could make out faint indentations where boots had pressed through the crust. The pattern was off—staggered, not in unison. Two people, maybe three.
Elira stepped beside him. "We could double back and—"
"No." His gaze stayed on the trail. "That's what they want. We stay on course. Make them follow into ground I choose."
She gave him a small, grim smile. "That sounds like bait."
"It is."
They waited in silence for a long minute, the air inside the watchpost cooling quickly as the sun dipped behind the ridge. When Kairo finally stepped back from the wall, he moved with the surety of a man who'd already chosen the outcome.
"We leave in five."
Elira didn't question him. She moved to gather her pack, slipping it onto her shoulders without breaking eye contact. There was a steadiness in her now that matched his own—not from trust exactly, but from the knowledge that hesitation would get them both killed.
When they stepped out of the watchpost, the cold hit sharper, stinging exposed skin. The trail narrowed quickly, forcing them single file. The wind was with them now, carrying their scent ahead and away from whoever followed.
Kairo didn't speak again until they reached a jagged outcrop where the rock dropped steeply into a narrow gorge. The far side was only twenty feet across, but the drop beneath was sheer. A fallen pine spanned the gap, stripped of bark and frozen hard.
Elira glanced at it, then at him. "You're not serious."
"It's the fastest way to lose them."
"It's also the fastest way to fall to our deaths."
His eyes held hers. "Do you trust me?"
She hesitated, then stepped toward the log. "You know I do."
The wind clawed at them as they crossed—one foot, then the other, eyes fixed on the far side. Halfway across, she felt the pine shift slightly under their weight. Kairo's hand closed briefly around her wrist, steadying her. His grip was firm, warm even through gloves.
They reached the far side without a slip. Kairo immediately kicked at the log, loosening the frozen earth at its base until it gave way. It toppled soundlessly into the gorge, vanishing into the shadow below.
The following boots would find no way across.
Kairo turned to her. "We've bought time. Not much. But enough."
Enough for what, she didn't ask. The answer lay in the set of his shoulders as he started forward again, leading her deeper into the mountains.
The first stars had begun to appear when they finally saw it—lights, faint but steady, far ahead in the valley.
Elira's breath caught. "A village?"
Kairo's eyes narrowed. "Or a trap dressed as one."
The path wound downward in a steep switchback, the snow here thinner, patchy with dark earth and stones. From this height, the lights below looked fragile, like candles flickering in cupped hands.
Kairo slowed as they approached the final curve, motioning Elira to stay behind him. "If it's a village, they'll hear us long before we step into the open. If it's not—"
"Then we've just walked into someone's sightline," she finished.
They crouched low, moving along the tree line until the road ahead came into view. The settlement—if it could be called that—was no more than a cluster of wooden houses, their walls warped with age. Smoke curled lazily from two chimneys, carrying the faint scent of burning pine.
But what drew Kairo's eye wasn't the buildings. It was the absence of movement. No voices. No dogs. No clatter of tools or footsteps on packed earth.
Elira felt the same unease. "It's too quiet."
He scanned the windows—shutters drawn tight, some nailed shut. His fingers brushed the small pistol holstered under his coat. "Stay close."
They stepped onto the main road, boots crunching softly over frost. The wind dropped entirely, and the silence thickened until it felt like a weight pressing against their ears.
Kairo stopped at the first house, knocking once. No answer. A second time, harder. Still nothing.
"Elira," he said without turning, "watch the street."
He tested the door. Unlocked. It creaked open to reveal a single-room interior—dust on the shelves, a table set with two chairs, and in the corner, a stove gone cold. On the table sat a half-finished loaf of bread, the edges stiff with age. Whoever had lived here had left in a hurry, and not recently.
From the doorway, Elira's voice came low. "Kairo…"
He stepped out immediately, following her gaze to the far end of the road. A figure stood there, motionless. Tall, wrapped in a heavy coat, face hidden beneath a scarf.
The man raised one gloved hand in slow greeting.
Kairo's own hand hovered near his weapon. "Stay behind me."
The stranger didn't move forward. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly in the still air. "Lord Voletti."
Elira's pulse quickened. No one here should have known that name—not in these mountains.
Kairo's reply was measured. "You have me at a disadvantage."
"I doubt it," the man said. "I've been waiting three days. Word travels faster than you think, even out here."
"What do you want?"
The man's eyes—pale and sharp even in shadow—flicked briefly toward Elira before returning to Kairo. "To warn you. Feretti has put a price on your head. Alive, preferably. But his patience for the 'preferably' is thin."
Kairo's jaw tightened. "And why help me?"
The man stepped closer now, slow and deliberate. "Because when Feretti burns, I want to be the one holding the match. And you—" his gaze lingered on Kairo's coat, where the faint outline of the satchel showed— "carry something that can make that happen."
Elira's grip tightened on her dagger. She hated that the stranger's words rang true.
Kairo didn't move. "If you've been watching, you know what happens to people who try to take what's mine."
The man stopped just out of reach, a flicker of a smile beneath the scarf. "I'm not here to take. I'm here to deal."
"And if I refuse?"
The smile didn't fade. "Then I tell Feretti where you're headed. And I'm told his men are already less than a day behind."
For a long moment, the three of them stood in the quiet street, the village like a stage set around them—empty, waiting for someone to break the scene.
Finally, Kairo spoke. "You'll get one night. No more."
The man's eyes glinted. "One night is all I need."
Elira's skin prickled. She knew what Kairo was doing—buying time, keeping options open. But she also knew that in their world, one night was long enough to decide the fate of everyone standing there.
Kairo motioned toward one of the boarded houses. "Inside. We talk where the walls listen less than the wind."
As they moved, Elira fell into step beside him. "Do you trust him?" she whispered.
"No," Kairo murmured back. "But tonight, I trust his hate more than his loyalty."
The door shut behind them, sealing in the first real warmth they'd felt all day. Outside, the village remained silent. But somewhere far beyond the ridge, the echo of approaching boots was already in motion.