Darius's POV
The Soot-Pines swallowed the light the way water absorbs ink. The carriage slowed as the wheels rolled onto the thick carpet of needles. Every sound felt closer here: the soft chime of harness metal, the horses’ wet breaths, the creak of Cassian’s saddle. Burned-black streaks climbed up the pine trunks, resin glistened in the cracks, and the air carried a heavy, tar-sweet scent.
Sera sat opposite me in the back of the cart, leaning against my cloak. Her side was tightly rebandaged. I still held her wrist—her chosen signal point—and traced slow circles across her skin, keeping her breathing steady. Short in, long out. If her breath broke, I guided it back. If pain pierced through, she told me. And if she said “Moon,” everything stopped.
The Pull stretched between us, no long
