Ryn didn't slow until the camp came back into view.
Snow crunched hard beneath his boots as he broke back into the crowd, with Amelia close behind.
The camp was dead silent. Not a single word—but their faces said it all.
Unease.
Mira had returned from Central.
She stood near the central fire, posture straight, ears low, with a sealed letter held between her two fingers. She held it with almost reverence, like it mattered more than her own life.
The moment Ryn arrived, she handed it to him and stepped back, eyes locked onto his.
Ryn already knew what this was.
He opened the letter. Skimming through the contents—mostly flowery words that couldn't be traced as hostile, even if someone closely examined every single letter.
Yet, the message was clear.
Come to the Church of Rokhan, or we'll slaughter your tribe.
Ryn folded the letter once and threw it into the campfire, paper slowly curling as the fire incinerated every part of its being.
He turned his head.
