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“Salve for your hands. It’s made from mountain herbs that help promote healing,” Sacha explains.

It takes me a couple of attempts to unwrap it because my fingers are so cold, but eventually I do to find a greenish paste that smells of pine. The scrapes on my palms sting when I apply it, but the sensation quickly changes to a soothing warmth that seems to penetrate beneath my skin.

“Narem.”

She acknowledges my thanks with a slight nod before turning her attention to sharing out small portions of journey bread from her seemingly inexhaustible supply.

We eat without speaking, the fire crackling beneath the storm’smuffled wrath. Outside, the world howls. I can’t stop shivering, and my mind won’t stop replaying the moment, theinstantthe mountain gave way behind us. The way Sacha stood between collapse and survival with nothing but his will and the shadows in his hands.

“How did you do that? Back in the pass. With the rockslide?”

He lifts his head. Firelight curls around his face, but his eyes absorb it rather than reflect it. It’s like even flames refuse to touch what’s inside him.

“I manipulated the shadows between the rocks to hold it together.”

“You held back anentirerockslide.”

“Temporarily. Just long enough for us to pass safely.”

“Could you have stopped it from happening completely?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, head tipping slightly. “Perhaps … under different circumstances. The storm complicated matters. Natural forces working against magical intervention.”

I consider his explanation, trying to reconcile the man seated opposite me with what I witnessed.

He looks tired. Not in a normal over-exerted kind of way. It’s something beneath the surface. A fine tension drawn tight through his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes. A quiet unraveling that doesn’t show unless you know what to look for. And I’ve spent enough time watching this man, trying to understand the contradictions that make him, to see it now.

“What else can you do?” The question is free before I can reconsider it.

Something flickers across his face. It could be firelight, but itlooks more like caution, carefully placed behind a mask he seems only half interested in maintaining right now.

“Many things.” His voice is even, almost detached. “My magic has applications beyond what most understand. I can see things from great distances, if there are enough shadows. I can move objects. As you witnessed, I can manipulate environmental conditions, when necessary.”

“And is that why they imprisoned you? Because you could do these things?”

“Partly.” He feeds another small branch into the fire, watching it catch. “My imprisonment was due to what I represented more than what I can do. A direct challenge to Authority control, and their doctrine that magic is a corrupting force.”

The fire crackles, sending sparks upward into the cave’s low ceiling. For a time, neither of us speaks. Tisera stands, murmuring something in a low voice to Sacha, who nods, and she moves closer to the entrance of the shelter, looking out at the storm. Her silhouette is just visible in the dim light.

“What happened before we left ... the fire …” My voice catches. “Was that magic too?”

Sacha's gaze sharpens. His full attention shifts to me, and I feel every inch of the stare. He’s not just looking at me, butintome. It’s like stepping beneath a spotlight, except his eyes don’t glow. They don’t reflect. They pin me in place and hold me there.

“Yes.”

“But not yours.” I don’t ask. Iknow.

“No. Not mine.” His tone is different now. Softer, but not gentle. Almost as though he’s waiting for something.

My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat pulsing in my ears. The question hangs between us, unspoken but heavy in the air, dense with implication, impossible to ignore. I don't want to voice it, to make it real by speaking it aloud, but I can't escape the truth vibrating through my bones.

The fire appeared when my anger peaked. When frustration at being kept in the dark finally boiled over into open confrontation.

And the flames answered me.

“That's not possible.” I sound far less certain than I'd like, my voice betraying me with a slight tremor. “I don't have magic. I can't.”

“The evidence suggests otherwise.” He leans forward, firelight dancing across the planes of his face, but not his eyes.Neverhis eyes. “The binding responded to your presence in the tower. The door opened to your touch ...twice. Ice formed when you broke the spell. Fire manifested during our argument.”