My body aches. I slept sitting up against the cart, spine bent at an awkward angle.

  For a few blissful moments, I wake without remembering why—just the cold, damp air on my skin.

  Then it comes back.

  Cattleya.

  I snap upright. She isn’t where I left her.

  I don’t hesitate. My emerald eye flares to life—I don’t care who sees—and I search. I find her quickly, her vire unmistakable. Thinned, but steadier than yesterday.

  Relief loosens my chest just enough to breathe.

  I hurry over. She’s lying in one of the merchants’ carts, eyes closed, face calm.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  I slip my cloak free and drape it over her, careful.

  “Hey, cove.”

  I turn. Veil stands behind me, easy smile in place, holding out a mug of soup and a hunk of bread.

  “Eat,” he says gently. “Can’t be skipping both dinner and breakfast.”

  “…Thank you, Veil.”

  I take them and sit nearby, eyes never leaving her.

  She looks peaceful—truly peaceful—the same expression she always wears when she sleeps without worry. I eat mechanically. I don’t register the taste of any of it.

  The caravan begins to move again. I stay close to her cart, near the center of the pack.

  I don’t notice Ulric until his heavy hand settles on my shoulder.

  For a long moment, he says nothing. Just looks down at me, expression unreadable.

  “I need you at the back,” he says at last. “Guard the rear.”

  His gaze flicks briefly toward Cattleya.

  “Remember this feeling,” he adds, tapping my shoulder once. “Face it. It’ll serve you later.”

  Then he’s gone, striding back toward the front.

  I squeeze Cattleya’s hand softly, waiting—hoping—for some response.

  Nothing.

  With a quiet sigh, I let go and fall back, slowing my pace until the caravan fully passes me and I take my place at the rear.

  Ulric…

  The moment I made that decision, I became responsible for what happened to her.

  Is that what you’re trying to teach me?

  In the past, Til always made the calls. I never objected. Neither did he.

  The memory comes unbidden—him sitting beside my bed, jaw tight, eyes rimmed red as I woke. I’d been badly hurt that time. Broken ribs. A shattered arm. Internal damage.

  He came every day. Cooked. Cleaned. Refused to leave.

  I scoff quietly.

  I was happy then—but I didn’t think much of it.

  …Was this how you felt, Til?

  This fear. This regret.

  “The tears of the world are a known quantity,” Kiereth says beside me. “For each who begins to weep, another stops.”

  I huff softly.

  “Hey, old man.”

  “I trust in the goddess,” he continues serenely. “Miss Cattleya will be returned to us once her deeds are measured.”

  I glance toward her cart again, briefly focusing on my eye to be sure.

  “That sounds like a chore,” I say dryly. “For the goddess, I mean. Eternity spent reviewing every sordid detail of mortal lives just to decide what’s best for them.”

  “Is that so?” Kiereth hums.

  “Mortals do seem fond of that idea. Different reasons, of course—but the impulse is familiar.”

  I smile faintly.

  “So next you’ll tell me temples work like tribunals.”

  His smile widens, then he shakes his head.

  “The purpose of prayer is not to influence the goddess,” a beat. “It is to change the one who prays. Her blessing is constant. Only our perception shifts.”

  …Talking with him helps. More than I expect.

  “Hey, Kier,” I say after a moment. “That… touch thing. How does it work? Do we read each other’s memories?”

  He looks surprised.

  “Memories? No. Our other halves do not experience memory as mortals do. Emotion, however…”

  He extends a hand. “Is there something you wish to share?”

  I hesitate—then place my palm against his.

  This time the sensation is gentler. Contentment. Belonging. Regret. Repentance. They wash through me like a steady wind.

  “You like us,” I say, smiling despite myself. “Going to be hard finding another caravan to follow after this, huh?”

  He doesn’t smile back.

  “This pressure you felt,” he says slowly. “And the sensation you described from the aevophages…”

  “Minnara,” I add. “She’s the niece of our client. We’ll probably see her again in Vellaris.”

  His hand settles on my shoulder—firm, grounding.

  “Forgive me, Imone,” he says. “I must meditate on this. I have suspicions, but I would not burden you without certainty.”

  With that, he moves ahead toward the center of the pack.

  “Huh…” I murmur.

  I exhale slowly and force my attention outward. The land has changed—trees taller and slimmer now, less sturdy than those near Vellaris.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Tomorrow night…

  We reach the Yun coast.

  The caravan drifts off the road, its formation tightening once more.

  My attention flicks briefly to Kiereth as he moves to the edge of camp, settles cross-legged, and goes still—already meditating.

  I head for Cattleya’s cart. She’s still asleep.

  I reach for her hand—but before I can focus, fingers close gently around my arm.

  “She’ll be fine,” Cinna says softly. She smiles, but her voice stays low, careful not to disturb Cattleya. “Come. Ulric’s calling for us.”

  When we approach, Ulric stands with his arms crossed. The usual easy grin is gone, replaced by a tired, weathered look.

  “I spoke with them,” he says. “Not ideal, but tomorrow we’re starting an hour earlier. The last delay cost us—if we keep this pace, we won’t reach Yunhai before nightfall.”

  He rolls his neck, a dull crack sounding as he exhales.

  “This time we’ve got warm baths and real beds dangling in front of them. Even if they’re not used to it… we’ll make it.”

  His gaze lingers on me, then drifts to Cattleya’s cart.

  “Eat. Then sleep. We’re one down—we can’t afford exhaustion slowing the rest of us.”

  Veil bumps his shoulder gently and jogs off toward the largest fire, helping speed the meal along.

  “Captain, I’m sor—” I start.

  Ulric grunts, cutting me off, more tired than angry.

  “Don’t apologize,” he says. “You made a call. Own it. Live with the consequences. Then make better ones.”

  He turns and walks away.

  Cinna’s hand finds my arm again.

  “Ulric’s worried,” she says quietly. “He puts a lot of effort into understanding all of us… but he never really understood her.”

  She guides me toward the fire.

  “He’s blaming himself as much as you are. Don’t think poorly of him.”

  I manage a small smile—

  —and then a scream cuts through the camp.

  “Wolves!”

  I’m moving before I can get a word out, hand already on my sword.

  One of the caravaneers is down—two wolves tearing into him.

  Before I can reach them, Ulric is there. His shield crashes into one beast, knocking it aside, then the other. The man is freed—but barely breathing.

  I fall in behind Ulric as Cinna drops to her knees, focusing on stabilizing the wounded man.

  Blood everywhere. Torn cloth. Shallow breaths.

  “Just what we needed,” Ulric snarls.

  “Veil—tighten the gaps. Don’t let any through. I’m pushing them back.”

  He doesn’t wait.

  He charges.

  I follow.

  Ulric crashes into the pack, shield-first, axe cleaving through fur and bone. A wolf leaps, jaws clamping onto his shoulder—

  —and Ulric barely reacts, driving forward anyway.

  Prim takes over.

  I read Ulric’s movements instinctively, anticipating the turn. Prim lunges as he twists, blade punching clean through the wolf’s ribs.

  I stay tight behind him.

  Prim deflects lunges with shallow, precise cuts—not stopping the wolves outright, but breaking their lines, forcing them off-balance long enough to keep them from reaching Ulric.

  Then another pack rushes in.

  My wrist snaps down.

  The crystalline mass slams into the ground and erupts upward—lance-long spikes forming in an instant. Wolves crash into them at full speed, momentum carrying them fatally forward.

  Ulric’s movements slow. His rage ebbs.

  A distant howl echoes—and the pack breaks.

  Ulric lowers his axe.

  For a moment, there is nothing but silence.

  “…Huh,” he mutters, glancing from the impaled wolves to me.

  I step forward. The crystal destabilizes, dissolving into orange mist that flows back into my skin.

  “Thanks,” he says.

  “Anytime, Captain.”

  Back at camp, more dead wolves are found near the perimeter. The fighting there has ended too.

  Then I see Cinna.

  She’s kneeling. Hands clenched in her lap. Jaw tight. A single line of tears slips free despite her effort to hold them back.

  The caravaneer in front of her doesn’t move.

  Dead.

  Veil kneels beside her, rubbing her shoulder gently.

  “…I forgot,” she whispers, then clamps her mouth shut.

  “…I forgot to cast the perimeter spell.” Her voice shakes. “We were worried. Tired. My mind was—”

  She exhales sharply.

  “He’s dead because of me.”

  Ulric meets Veil’s eyes. Veil nods.

  Veil crouches beside Cinna, murmuring something low and steady, drawing her back toward the camp with an arm around her shoulders.

  “I’ll handle this,” Ulric says quietly, eyes on the body. Then he looks at me.

  “Talk to the caravaneers. Find out what they want done. Where we can send him. Family.”

  I nod, jaw tight.

  As I speak with them, the man stops being just a body.

  A cobbler. Worked uniforms in Vellaris. Fell in love with a visitor from Yunhai. Saved everything he earned to travel and find her again.

  Now he won’t.

  And she may never even know.

  In the end, we agree on one thing at least—

  we’ll take him with us to Yunhai.

  Ulric and I clean the camp in silence. We drag the wolf bodies away, hauling them deep into the treeline, far enough that the smell won’t drift back.

  Then we wrap the man in cloth, sealing wounds that have already gone dark, and prepare to move him—

  Cattleya?

  She’s gone.

  Only my cloak remains where she’d been. I snatch it up, heart lurching, my emerald eye flaring before I even register what I’m doing.

  Ulric watches me in silence, one brow lifting.

  Then I see her—by the fire, mug raised to her lips.

  The tension leaves my body so abruptly I nearly stumble. I catch myself, breathing hard.

  “I’ll handle this,” Ulric says quietly as he settles the body where Cattleya had been resting.

  I move toward her—

  then slow.

  Then stop.

  Her familiar white tail lies low, relaxed. Her hair is a tangled mess, clearly worsened by how long she slept. She looks… herself.

  My mouth opens. No words come. I’m just—relieved.

  “Ey, cove,” Veil says, glancing up from the pot. He jerks his chin toward it.

  “Grab yerself a mug, aye?”

  Before I can answer, Cattleya’s ears perk. She turns—and the moment her eyes lock with mine, a hand wraps around my wrist, tugging me forward. I stumble, then lower myself beside her.

  She smiles.

  That same easy, warm smile.

  The one I didn’t want to lose.

  She turns, ladles soup into a mug, and presses it into my hands.

  “It’s really good, Imo,” she says, tail swishing.

  I hold her gaze a moment longer, then take a sip.

  “Oh—this is rich,” I murmur.

  Veil grins.

  “Had to put summat special in it. Long day tomorrow—figured we’d need a bit o’ bite.”

  He settles beside Cinna, slipping an arm around her as she drinks quietly.

  Ulric joins us briefly, his gaze lingering on Cattleya before softening.

  “Good,” he says as he fills his mug. “Eat. Then bed. We move before first light.”

  He steps away.

  Veil douses the fire and covers the pot. When he’s done, he gently guides Cinna back toward the wagons.

  I sigh softly and turn to Cattleya.

  She looks back at me—same smile, same slight tilt of her head, tail swaying.

  “…Aren’t you upset with me?” I ask quietly.

  She blinks, genuinely confused.

  “Why?”

  I look down.

  “I tried something I never had before. I didn’t know how it’d work. I put you at risk.”

  She leans closer until our shoulders touch, smile unbroken.

  “Felt nice,” she says, eyes closing.

  “I felt Imo through me. Tingled. Comfortable.”

  I freeze for a beat, heat rushing to my cheeks.

  “Let’s—let’s go to bed,” I say, flustered. “You still need rest. You’re not fully recovered.”

  “Mm.”

  She latches onto my arm before we even reach the bedrolls—and I notice hers is set right beside mine.

  “Thanks, Captain,” I whisper.

  We lie down, my cloak awkwardly half-covering us both. It’s not nearly big enough.

  I don’t care.

  I exhale, the last of the tension draining from me.

  Tomorrow—

  Yunhai.