The south route was different.
Where the north road had been open and exposed, carved through hills and stretches of flat land, the south wound through valleys and clusters of pine that hadn't yet given way to scrub. The air was warmer here, the snow patchy and thin. We passed villages, small and quiet, where children watched us from doorways and farmers paused in their fields to nod as we rode by.
Normal life. The kind that felt both foreign and achingly familiar.
We made camp on the third night in a clearing beside a stream. The water ran fast and clear, cold enough to numb your hands if you left them in too long. Joss and I refilled the waterskins while Sael's men set up a perimeter and Maer started a fire.
"Think they're still watching us?" Joss asked quietly.
I glanced back at the camp. Sael was speaking with one of his men, gesturing toward the tree line. Maer was crouched by the fire, feeding it kindling.
"Probably," I said. "But they're being patient. Waiting for us to get careless."
"Or waiting for us to reach Cerasis."
"Maybe." I sealed the last waterskin and stood. "Either way, we keep moving. The faster we get there, the less time they have to plan."
Joss nodded, but his expression was troubled. "Ryn, when we get to Cerasis, what happens if they don't listen?"
"They'll listen."
"But what if they don't? What if the folio isn't enough?"
I looked at him. At the worry in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. Joss had followed me south without question, had stood beside me through every fight, every decision. He deserved an honest answer.
"Then we make it enough," I said. "We find more evidence. We track down the brokers, the merchants, anyone involved. We don't stop until they have no choice but to act."
"And if that's not possible?"
"It will be."
He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded. "All right. I trust you."
The words settled over me, heavier than they should've been. Trust was a weight I'd carried for years, the expectations of others pressing down until I couldn't remember what it felt like to breathe without it.
I clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's eat before the food gets cold."
***
Dinner was a quiet affair. Stew made from dried meat and root vegetables, thick and filling. We ate quickly, efficiently, the way soldiers did when they didn't know how long they'd have to wait for the next meal.
Afterward, Sael pulled out a deck of cards and convinced two of his men to join him in a game. Joss cleaned his sword by the fire, the rhythmic scrape of whetstone against steel filling the silence. I sat apart from the others, my back against a tree, and pulled out the folio.
I'd been avoiding it. Looking at it meant thinking about Harven, about the work we'd done together, the names we'd compiled, the villages we'd visited. It meant remembering why this mattered.
I broke the seal and unfolded the pages.
The first section was a list of raids. Dates, locations, estimated casualties. Three years' worth of violence, laid out in neat columns. The second section detailed trade disruptions. Missing grain shipments, burned supply carts, merchants who'd disappeared along the border routes. The third section was the one that mattered most. Names. Brokers who'd bought up land after raids. Merchants who'd profited from the disruptions. Minor lords who'd looked the other way.
I scanned the names, searching for Rothera. It wasn't there. At least, not explicitly. But there were references to "southern mercantile interests" and "coordinated logistics networks" that could easily include them.
"Looking for something specific?"
I looked up. Maer stood a few feet away, firelight dancing across his face.
"Just reviewing," I said.
"Mind if I sit?"
I gestured to the ground beside me. He sat, close enough that our shoulders almost touched, and glanced at the folio.
"That's a lot of death," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"You compiled all of this?"
"Most of it. My uncle helped. He's a cartographer. He knows the trade routes, the people who move through them. He taught me how to see the patterns."
Maer was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "You talk about him a lot. Your uncle."
"He raised me. After my parents died."
"Border raid?"
I nodded. "I was eight. They were traveling south to sell grain when raiders hit the caravan. My uncle found me three days later, hiding in the wreckage." I folded the folio carefully, not looking at him. "He could've left me. Sent me to a foundling house or a distant relative. But he didn't. He kept me. Taught me how to read maps, how to understand the roads. He said knowing where things were was the first step to keeping them safe."
"Sounds like a good man."
"He is." I tucked the folio back into my coat. "He's the one who told me to become a Warden. Said if I was going to spend my life trying to protect people, I should do it properly."
"And Joss?"
"Joss followed me because he's stubborn and loyal in equal measure. I told him not to. Told him the Wardens were dangerous, that he'd be better off staying in Droupet and learning a trade. He didn't listen."
Maer smiled. "Sounds like someone else I know."
I almost smiled back. Almost.
Instead, I said, "Why are you really here, Maer?"
His smile faded. "I told you. I'm heading south. Scout work."
"And you just happened to be at the same waystation we were, at the exact moment we needed a healer?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe in coincidences."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed. "All right. You want the truth? I heard about the ambush. Word travels fast in the borderlands, and a dead Warden is news. I also heard you were carrying something important. Something that might actually change things." He looked at me, his expression serious. "I've spent years watching the raids get worse. Watching villages burn, people die, and nothing ever changes because no one in Cerasis cares enough to do anything about it. So when I heard you were trying to make them care, I wanted to help."
"By lying to me?"
"By being useful. I figured if I could prove I was worth keeping around, you'd let me stay. And if I stayed, maybe I could actually make a difference for once."
I studied him. The honesty in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He meant it. Or at least, he believed he did.
"You should've told me," I said.
"Would you have let me come if I had?"
Probably not.
He seemed to read the answer in my silence. "I'm not here to hurt you, Ryn. I'm here because I think what you're doing matters. And because..." He hesitated, then continued. "Because I think you matter."
The words hung between us, fragile and dangerous.
I should've pulled away. Should've reminded him that this was a mission, not a friendship. That I didn't have room in my life for anything but duty.
Instead, I said, "We leave at first light."
He smiled, small and knowing. "Understood, Captain."
***
The drills started the next morning.
I woke everyone before dawn and ran them through formations. Even Sael's men, who'd been hired as escorts, not soldiers, fell into line without complaint. I paired them off, had them practice defensive maneuvers, coordinated movements for if we were ambushed on the road.
Joss fought beside me, our movements synchronized from years of training together. Maer was quick and light on his feet, favoring speed over strength. Sael stayed back, watching with an expression I couldn't read.
After an hour, I called a halt. Everyone was breathing hard, sweat cooling on skin despite the morning chill.
"Again tomorrow," I said. "And every morning until we reach Cerasis. If they come at us again, I want us ready."
"You really think they'll try again?" one of Sael's men asked.
"I think they'd be stupid not to. And whoever's behind this isn't stupid."
The man nodded and went to check his gear. I watched him go, then turned to find Maer standing close, too close, his breathing still uneven from the drills.
"You're good," he said. "Better than good."
"I've had practice."
"I noticed." He tilted his head, studying me. "You ever let yourself stop? Just for a moment?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because people die when I stop."
The words came out harsher than I'd intended, but they were true. Harven had died. My parents had died. And every moment I wasted was another moment someone else could die.
Maer's expression softened. "Ryn..."
"Don't." I stepped back, putting distance between us. "We need to pack up. We're losing daylight."
I walked away before he could respond, before the warmth in his eyes could make me feel things I didn't have time for.
But I felt them anyway.
***
We made good time that day. The road was clear, the weather mild. By evening, we'd reached a courier post, a small fortified structure where riders could rest and exchange messages.
The postmaster, a grizzled man with grey in his beard, greeted us with suspicion that faded when I showed him my Warden insignia.
"Captain," he said, nodding. "You need lodging?"
"Just for the night. And information, if you have it."
"What kind?"
I pulled the token from my pocket and showed it to him. "You ever seen one of these?"
He took it, turning it over in his hands. His expression shifted, something between recognition and wariness.
"Rothera," he said. "Where'd you get this?"
"Off a dead mercenary. Have you seen others?"
"A few. Couriers bring them through sometimes. High-value contracts, mostly. I don't ask questions." He handed it back. "But I did hear something a few weeks back. One of the couriers was talking about a man. Said he was running payments for someone, moving tokens like that up and down the trade routes. Called him the Cast-Runner."
"Cast-Runner?"
"That's what they called him. I don't know his real name. But if you're looking for someone connected to those tokens, he'd be the one to find."
"Where is he now?"
The postmaster shrugged. "Could be anywhere. He moves fast, doesn't stay in one place long. But if you're heading to Cerasis, you might hear more there. He operates mostly out of the capital."
I pocketed the token. "Thank you."
"Captain." He hesitated, then said, "Be careful. People who carry those tokens don't like questions. And people who ask questions about them tend to disappear."
"I'll keep that in mind."
***
That night, I sat by the fire and sketched the token into my journal. The fox, the chains, every detail I could remember. Beneath it, I wrote: Cast-Runner. Payments. Rothera. Cerasis.
A name. Not a real one, but a name nonetheless. Something to follow.
Maer appeared beside me, silent as always. He glanced at my journal, then at me.
"Can't stop thinking about it?" he asked.
"No."
"Good." He sat down, our shoulders brushing. "You shouldn't."
We sat like that for a while, the fire crackling, the night settling around us. And when his hand found mine in the darkness, I didn't pull away.
Not yet.
Not tonight.