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He turns to me. “Can you walk?”

I nod. I’ll crawl if I have to, just to get away from this clearing.

“Good. We need to move before anyone else arrives.”

The merchants scramble to gather what remains of their belongings, still shaken, still watching. With fear. With hope. With terrible anticipation.

We leave them behind, stepping back into the dense forest. Varam leads us away from the main path again, taking a different route, one that keeps us hidden among the trees.

Only when we’re far enough that the clearing is long out of sight, does he turn to Sacha and speak.

“That was reckless. Word will spread.”

Sacha lets out a soft breath, the last of the darkness peeling away from his skin.

“Good. Let them know what comes for them.”

Varam shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything more.

We press deeper into the trees. The ground is uneven beneath my feet. Branches claw at my clothes. But it’s not the forest that presses in on me. It’s the clearing we left behind. The bandits’ lifeless bodies. The silver light that flickered at my fingertips.

The way Sacha hadn’t answered me.

Was it my fault?

I don’t know.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be sure.

But doubt follows me into the trees, wrapping around my ribs, sinking into my lungs. A shadow that won’t leave me alone.

“Here.” A hand enters my vision. I blink, focusing on the flask in Sacha’s hand.

I don’t question it, just uncap it and drink. The liquid burns its way down my throat, making me cough and catch my breath, but almost immediately, warmth spreads through my limbs, driving away the deep chill that’s settled into my bones.

I hand it back. “Whatisthat?”

“Essence of mountain fire-root. It gives temporary restoration for those depleted by magical exertion.”

“You had that this whole time?”

One corner of his mouth kicks up at the incredulous tone in my voice. That faintest hint of a smile, gone almost before it forms. “You weren’t in danger before. Now, you need it.”

I should ask him again about whether it was my fault. But the opportunity is lost when Varam calls his name, and he strides forward to walk beside the other man.

By late afternoon, we finally reach the edge of the forest. The land slopes into a broad valley, but it isn’t the valley itself that makes me stop. It’s the mist.

It moves unnaturally, swirling in slow patterns, coiling and uncoiling like something alive. The closer I look, the more it unsettles me, the more the air itself seems to pulse against my skin.

“The Veil Mists,” Sacha says from beside me. “Named for the way they hide what lies beneath.”

“Whatdoeslie beneath?”

He doesn’t answer me …again.

The sun begins its descent, its rays cutting through the vapor like golden columns. For a moment, the effect is breathtaking—shafts of light stretching into the mist like something tangible.

“It’s beautiful.”