The boy was stretched along the branch, head angled toward the trunk, one arm tucked behind his head for support. His eyes were closed.
Ivor eased onto the branch.
He placed his weight with care, memory guiding him, long nights in the Shrouded district, running across wooden rooftops, learning where to step and how to shift his balance without a sound. Inch by inch, he moved closer.
When he stopped, he was right above the boy's head.
The pressure behind his eyes snapped tight.
Ivor took the dagger back into his hand.
In one clean motion, he pressed the blade to the boy's throat and clamped his other hand over the boy's mouth.
The boy's eyes flew open.
He tried to rise, panic surging through him, but Ivor forced him down, tightening his grip. The dagger pushed just enough to bite skin. A thin line of blood welled and slid along the edge.
The boy froze.
His chest heaved, breath trapped, eyes wide and glassy with fear. After a moment, his shaking hand lifted slowly in surrender.
"The crystals," Ivor whispered.
The boy swallowed hard, nodded once, and with trembling fingers reached into his pocket.
The pressure behind his eyes stayed tight, humming like a held string, but he kept his body still and his movements slow. Any rush now would undo everything. The forest around them remained quiet, the other three boys perched in their own trees, unaware of how close the balance was to breaking.
Ivor leaned closer, close enough that his breath brushed the boy's ear.
"Bring your hands back," he whispered, voice low and even. "Slowly."
The boy froze for a heartbeat, then obeyed. His hands trembled as he moved them behind his head, fingers brushing the bark. Ivor shifted his weight, keeping the dagger pressed just enough to remind him it was there.
"Two of your friends are already dead," Ivor murmured, the lie delivered without emotion. "If you make a sound, you'll join them."
The boy went rigid. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths, but he didn't cry out.
Keeping the blade steady, Ivor used his free hand to take the crystals as the boy pulled them from his pouch. He slid them into his mouth one by one, careful not to let them click together. The taste was bitter and metallic against his tongue.
Then he worked quickly.
He looped the first strip of cloth around the boy's wrists, tying them tight to the branch behind his head. The bark bit into the boy's skin as Ivor cinched it down. With the second strip, he bound the boy's mouth, pulling the knot tight enough to muffle sound but not choke. The boy's eyes were wide now, shining in the dark, fixed on Ivor's face.
Ivor didn't linger.
He eased himself off the branch and slid down the trunk, letting gravity take him the last few feet. The moment his boots touched the ground, he turned and moved.
The second target was exactly where he wanted. Ivor circled wide, staying downwind, using the trees to break his outline. The pressure behind his eyes pulsed, guiding his steps, narrowing his focus until there was only distance, timing, and breath.
He climbed again, just as quietly.
This boy noticed him too late.
Ivor had the dagger at his throat before he could turn, the cold metal pressing into skin. The boy jerked, starting to shout, but Ivor slammed a hand over his mouth and forced him back against the trunk.
"Don't," Ivor whispered. "Or I cut."
The boy shook, eyes darting toward the others, panic tearing through him. Ivor bound his mouth using the last strip of cloth. Ivor took the crystals, put all four of them in his pants and then slid of the trunk. The boy struggled as soon as the dagger moved away, boots scraping against bark as he tried to slide down.
Ivor was already waiting below.
The moment the boy dropped, Ivor stepped in and struck him hard behind the ear with the pommel of the dagger. The impact snapped the boy's head sideways, and he collapsed in a heap, stunned but alive. Before he could recover, Ivor slashed low, cutting clean through the tendons at both ankles. The boy screamed into the cloth, the sound ugly and raw.
It was loud enough to alert the remaining two boys.
Shouts rang out above.
Without turning to look, Ivor ran.
He bolted through the trees, not straight, but toward the place he had prepared earlier. His lungs burned, his injured leg screaming, but he didn't slow. He could hear them behind him now, branches cracking as one of the remaining boys climbed down and gave chase.
Ivor ducked behind the tree where he had left the bone sword and picked it up.
He pressed himself flat against the bark, breathing through his nose, listening.
Footsteps pounded closer. Fast. Careless. Angry.
The pressure behind his eyes surged, white and sharp, and the world narrowed until all he could hear was the rhythm of those steps and the rush of blood in his ears.
The boy burst through the trees.
Ivor stepped out and swung.
The bone sword connected with a dull, sickening crack. The boy crumpled instantly, body folding as he hit the ground and didn't rise. Ivor didn't stop moving. He tore the pouch from the boy's belt, feeling the weight of the crystals inside, then backed away, eyes locked on the last figure still in the trees.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The forest held its breath.
Ivor stood there, chest heaving, blood slick on his hands, crystals heavy in his pocket. His muscles trembled from exhaustion, from restraint, from the instinct screaming inside him to finish all three not just injure.
The last boy stared back, fear and fury twisting across his face. Ivor knew he didn't have much time before the others regrouped. He could run now, disappear into the forest with the six crystals he had already taken.
But he wanted more.