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She turned towards him, firelight catching the strain in her eyes. “If you turn back now, we lose our lead. Every moment wasted gives them more ground. You know that.”

He met her look steadily. “And if you collapse before we find it?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low but fierce. “They’ll tear through both of us.”

Her hand tightened around the dagger in her lap. “You think I haven’t considered that?”

Lance shifted in the branches above. His unease pressed faintly against her mind.

“Krylovan’s seven days ride, maybe six if we cut a path.” He gestured towards the shadows. “They won’t linger near so many Templars.”

“They’ll follow,” she said.

“Then make them chase us into a ground of our choosing.” His tone hardened.

The logic of it burned bitterly in her chest. He was right, but the thought of turning away from Nellith’s trail gnawed at her.

She met his eyes again. “We’ll waste no time once we are there?”

“None,” he said. “You have my word.”

She studied him, searching for the smallest hint of hesitation.

She nodded once, reluctantly. “At first light, then.” The words tasted like defeat.

Lysander exhaled. “Try to rest.”

She drew her cloak tighter, turning back towards the dying fire. “They’ll think we’re running.”

“Then let them.”

Chapter 12

The sun stayed behind the haze. Mist dragged low across the trail. Cold soaked through her gloves despite the leather. Every breath hurt slightly now.

Lance circled overhead, wings cutting through the fog in wide, deliberate arcs. His usual hisses were gone; only the faint rush of air marked his passing.

Idonea tugged her cloak tighter, every muscle in her body sore from the night before. She looked towards Lysander. He rode with the same controlled stillness he brought to everything. Idonea had stopped expecting his face to reveal useful information.

The land grew harsher with every mile. Pines thickened along the slopes until the road narrowed to a winding trail hemmed by trunks black with frost. The air carried the smell of resin and snow, the sky a constant pale weight pressing above the trees. They rode in silence, Idonea in front, Lysander's arm at her waist.

By the second day, the ground froze hard beneath the gelding’s hooves. Ice sheathed the river that ran parallel to their path, its surface cracking faintly beneath the current. Idonea dismounted to fill her waterskin, kneeling beside the bank.

Lysander crouched nearby. “You’re healing fast.”

“The Current helps,” she said, corking the skin. She’d never understood it completely, but she’d always healed faster than others.

He studied her in silence, but whatever thoughts crossed his mind stayed behind his eyes.

On the third day, snow fell. Light at first, then steadied, until it clung to their cloaks and lashes. The trees loomed close, muffling all sounds, even forcing Lance to fly lower. Idonea was grateful they’d encountered no Nexis entities so far. She’d stopped the tracking spell, though it gnawed at her not knowing where Nellith was.

When they made camp that night, it was in a clearing ringed by firs, their branches heavy with white. Lysander knelt by the fire, coaxing flame from damp wood. The orange glow cut across his features.

Idonea watched him fit brass plates together, fingers deft despite the cold.

“What is that?” she asked.

He didn’t look up. “An emitter. Templars use them to test for residual Current.”

Her lips thinned. “You carry one while travelling with me?”