The lie to Cassian bought them distance, but not peace. Every rustle in the undergrowth felt like her brother’s hunters doubling back. Every silence felt like the prelude to another Soul-Eater’s whisper. The Path of the Tear grew steeper, the air colder, and the psychic echoes of the heir’s distress became a constant, thrumming bass note in Kael’s consciousness, tightening his features into a mask of endurance.
They made camp in a high, rocky alcove shielded by a curtain of thorny vines. Kael built no fire; the darkness was their blanket, their cloak. As Elara unpacked the last of Ronan’s rations, she watched him. He sat with his back against the stone, eyes closed, but his fingers traced restless patterns on the ground not random, but intricate, swirling sigils that seemed to drink the f
