A yellow paper talisman caught between Caleb’s fingers, igniting with a sharp crackle as he channeled a thin thread of spiritual fire into the inscribed cinnabar glyphs.
He flicked his wrist, sending the burning parchment down onto the pile of corpses stacked neatly over the dead roots of the pine. The enchanted flame did not roar with wild heat, but spread with a quiet, hungry hiss across cloth, boiled leather, and flesh, consuming the evidence down to white bone and fine gray powder within minutes. The heavy scent of charred pine resin rose to mask the bitter smoke, drifting upward into the cold canopy before scattering across the autumn gale.
Caleb stood alone on the damp granite shelf, his gray coat pinned shut against the gathering drizzle.
The heavy iron medallion he had stripped
