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The patrol moved in two lines, knights and apprentices interspersed so no one would drift too far. Emil found himself near the rear, spear angled across his shoulder, boots thudding against the damp earth. The forest swallowed them quickly. Branches tangled overhead, blotting out the weak sun. The air grew damp and cold, carrying the smell of moss and rot. Every sound was amplified—the creak of leather, the clink of metal, the snap of twigs beneath their boots. No birds sang. No insects hummed. The silence was wrong, and everyone felt it. Joran, marching a few paces ahead, glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide. Emil caught his gaze, saw the fear he tried to mask with a quick grin. Emil didn’t return it. The whisper did not come. Emil expected it, almost longed for it, if only to break t
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