They did not leave the ravine immediately.
Not because they hesitated—but because the land itself seemed reluctant to let them go.
Mist clung low between the stone walls, curling like breath caught between ribs. The air felt heavier here, as though the world was holding something in reserve, watching to see whether she would retreat or claim the space she now occupied.
She stood at the center of it all.
Not deliberately.
Not performatively.
Just… naturally.
The bond-field pulsed around her, no longer wild, no longer reactive. It had settled into something dense and quiet, like deep water that looked calm until something tried to move through it.
Silas wiped his blade clean with methodical care, eyes never leaving the ravine walls. Rowan flexed his hands, rolling his shoulders, adrenaline still humming beneath his skin. Alaric remained close—so close she could feel the steady heat of him even without contact.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Then Rowan broke the silence.
