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We reposition to watch the western approach, and after a few minutes, two figures emerge from the tall grass beside the road. Even from this distance, I know it's Sacha. There's something about the way he moves—economical, precise, always alert—that makes it unmistakable. The sight of him is like a jolt of lightning, relief so sharp it’s painful. Varam follows slightly behind him, and we watch as they navigate from one patch of cover to another.

“They made it,” Mira breathes, her relief breaking through her control.

Butmyrelief won’t settle.

Whatever abilities I'm developing respond to Sacha's proximity, even at this distance. The connection between us strengthens with each step he takes—a current passing back and forth like a conversation without words. Except the current is growing wilder now, harder to hold. It crackles through me, firing every nerve ending.

For a moment, I swear I can feel an echo of his determination,his focused calculation as he plots their path forward. Then movement on the hill opposite our position catches my eye.

“What’s that?”

Mira stiffens, hand moving to the knife in her belt. “Authority soldiers. Not regular guards. Look at their cloaks. Elite unit.”

I squint, making out around a dozen soldiers moving parallel to Sacha and Varam’s approach. Unlike the mounted guards down on the road, these move quietly, unnoticed from Sacha and Varam’s vantage point.

“They’re setting up an ambush,” Mira says. “Cutting off the route to the river.”

“We need to warn them.” I don’t know why I whisper.

“We can’t. They won’t see us from here, and we won’t reach them before the soldiers.”

“But they’re walking into a trap!”

“The Vareth’el will sense them before they attack.” But her words lack confidence. I can hear the worry in them. I canfeelit in the air.

We watch in growing dread as the situation unfolds below. Sacha and Varam continue their approach, unaware of the soldiers moving into position ahead of them. The Authority unit splits, some taking higher ground while others establish blocking positions at key points along their most likely route.

“This isn't a standard pursuit,” Mishak says, voice tight. “They know exactly where to position their forces. They know the Vareth’el is heading for the river.”

“How?” The word barely makes it past the tightness in my throat.

Both Veinwardens stare at me, then Mira sucks in a sharp breath, her expression darkening.

"Someone must have betrayed us. There is no other explanation." Her fingers curl around the hilt of her knife.

More soldiers materialize from concealed positions in the forest ahead. Not just a dozen now, but twenty or thirty, forming a closed circle around the approaching men.

"There are too many." Nausea rises in my throat, bitter and burning. My silver light flares in response to my fear, surging in thick, uneven pulses. "They can't fight that many."

I should feel afraid, but beneath the fear rises something else. Fury. After everything Sacha endured, after twenty-seven years of darkness, to be hunted like this feels profoundly wrong. The injustice of it stokes something fierce and protective inside me.

Mira's face is grim as she looks down the hill. "We need to create a diversion. Something to draw some of them away, give them an opening."

But before she can formulate a plan, a figure emerges in the center of the road ahead of Sacha and Varam. Even at this distance, his bearing communicates absolute authority, crimson robes catching what remains of the early evening light, guards flanking him in protective formation.

"Sereven." The shock in Mira's voice mirrors the horror unfolding in my chest. "The High Commander himself."

Below, Sacha and Varam stop abruptly, seeing the figure blocking their path.

"How is that possible?" I whisper. "He was at the ceremony."

"This isn't just a random patrol." Mira's voice hardens. "This was planned. Coordinated. They knew exactly when and where to position their forces. They were expecting him. They forced their flight to take this path."

Soldiers emerge from concealment around Sacha and Varam, cutting off all escape routes. There's something strange about their equipment. Instead of standard armor, theirs gleams with an unnatural blue glow.

One that reminds me of something.

Below, Sacha and Varam move back-to-back, turning in a slow circle as the soldiers close in. I can't hear what's being said, but Sereven's posture suggests satisfaction, a predator who has successfully cornered long-pursued prey. Even from this distance, I can see the moment Sacha's eyes find Sereven. His body goes completely still, then tenses like a coiled spring.