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“We should be past their search area now,” Tisera says, consulting her map. “From here, we follow the ridge east, then northern through the high passes.”

I study the town one final time. The Authority’s formation—too uniform, too focused—confirms what I suspected. They’re hunting someone specific. Not a broad net. A name. Aface. Probably mine.

We move on. The path narrows as we climb. The forest thins with elevation, ridgelines opening into long, exposed spans of rock and brittle soil, and offering clear views of the surrounding valleys. It’s helpful for visibility, and dangerous for the same reason.

Tisera points out landmarks to Ellie as we walk, while I translate for her. Her knowledge of these mountains rivals what mine once was.

“The storm last week altered some of the northern paths. Rockslides narrowed the way through the northern pass. We’ll need to be careful when we reach it,” I say.

“How bad will it be?”

“The biggest problem will be stability. Recent rainfall may have weakened already compromised sections.”

By mid-morning, we’ve reached higher ground, where the forest gives way to stunted pines, and wind-scoured stone. The air is thinner, each breath drawing less oxygen into the lungs.

Tisera points toward a dark shelf of clouds passing over thenorthern peaks. “The weather is turning. We need to reach the pass before that stormcloud gets there.”

I study the sky. The shape and speed of the clouds tell me what I need to know. Four hours, perhaps less, before conditions shift. Hopefully, that’s enough time to reach the pass, if we can keep our current pace.

I turn to Ellie. “We need to move faster. A storm is approaching from the north.”

The trail constricts to a single line of stone, barely two feet wide. On one side, the mountain falls away in jagged drops. Sparse brush clings to the slope on the uphill side, but the higher we climb, the more the landscape strips bare. The wind catches the edge of my cloak as we move. Not yet dangerous, but no longer ignorable.

Ellie’s breathing changes. She’s not panicking, not yet, but it’s shallow and fast. She places each foot where Tisera indicates, one hand brushing against the rockface for balance.

“You’re doing well.” I keep my voice even. “Not much farther.”

She doesn’t respond, beyond a small nod.

The wind gains teeth. It slides between layers of clothing and presses against us, threatening our balance. The clouds above thicken, turning slate gray. The peaks to the north disappear behind a wall of mist and movement. The air turns cooler, tinged with the scent of oncoming rain.

The ground levels briefly, and then rises again—rock underfoot, worn smooth by centuries of weather. The slope grows steeper. The sky presses lower.

By the time the path curves sharply toward the pass, the lighthas changed. Not quite afternoon, not quite storm-dark. A gray edge settles over everything.

We reach the approach to the northern pass as the light thins. Sheer rock faces rise on either side, and the path narrows even more to a ledge carved by centuries of wind and water. Far below, the valley floor drops away in vertigo-inducing depth.

“The northern pass,” Tisera says. “It’s a natural corridor between major peaks. The Authority avoids it except during mid-summer. It’s impossible for them to patrol well. We need to cross before the storm arrives. Once the rain falls, the path will be too dangerous.”

I know this place. I remember the wind here. I remember how easily stones turn slick and treacherous. How sound bends. Wind funnels through the narrow space make it almost impossible to stay balanced.

“Proceed with caution,” I warn Ellie. “Test each step before committing your weight. Don’t hurry.”

Tisera goes first, Ellie follows her. I bring up the rear.

The wind strengthens with each step into the narrowing corridor, forcing us to pause and brace when the gusts rise too strong. Then the first raindrops strike—sharp, slanting, driven sideways by wind that claws at our balance.

“We need to move faster,” Tisera calls. “The storm is coming in quicker than expected.”

We are threading our way through the narrowest section of the pass, when my familiar sends back a warning. An image flashes into my mind.

Stone groaning under strain. Weight shifting. Pressure warping the shape of the mountain.

The damage from previous rockslides has left this section unstable, and now the storm is prying at every weakness—rain threading into fractures, wind needling beneath overhangs, drilling into ancient weaknesses with malicious precision.

“Stop.” My voice is a whipcrack through the wind. “The wall is unstable.”

Tisera and Ellie freeze.