Page 47

Torric

We haven't stopped in six hours.

Kaia sets the pace from Enif's back, her winged mount cutting through Absentia's corrupted air like a blade through smoke. The rest of us follow on horseback, pushing our mounts harder than we should, but none of us dare suggest slowing down.

Not when she looks like that.

Her spine is rigid, shoulders set with the kind of determination that doesn't bend until it breaks.

She hasn't eaten since Kieran's report, hasn't spoken except to bark course corrections or wave off offers of food.

Even her shadows know she's running on empty—Bob drifts beside her with less of his usual military precision, Patricia's frantic note-taking has slowed to occasional, weary scribbles.

But Kaia doesn't see it. Doesn't want to see it.

When Enif finally touches down for the horses to water at a stream, Aspen approaches carefully.

"She's innocent," Kaia says before he can suggest we rest longer. Her voice cuts like conviction, but there's a tremble in it only someone who really knows her would hear. "She doesn't deserve this. If she followed me into this realm because of something I did, something I said..."

She doesn't finish the thought. Doesn't need to. We all hear what she's not saying, that if Seren's capture is her fault, then saving her becomes the only thing that matters. Everything else—rest, food, tactical planning—is just delay.

Aspen falls back without arguing, but I catch the look he shares with Malrik. The same concern that's been eating at me all day, growing heavier with each mile we cover.

No one doubts Kaia's certainty that the purple hair belongs to Seren. But believing it's her and believing we can save her are two different things entirely.

When Callum suggests we slow our pace to account for terrain risks, Kaia's response is sharp enough to draw blood.

"We maintain speed," she snaps, not even turning to look at him. "Every hour we delay gives them more distance."

"But if the horses—"

"The horses are fine." Her shadows flicker with irritation. "We keep moving."

Callum falls silent, but I catch him muttering something about "chasing ghosts" under his breath. The words make my jaw clench, not because he's wrong, but because he might be right.

As the sun begins its descent toward the twisted peaks ahead, Kaia finally calls for camp. Not because she wants to stop, but because even she can't deny that pushing through Absentia's darkness is suicide .

She takes first watch without asking, positioning herself on a rocky outcrop that overlooks our backtrail. Stone-faced. Unmoving. A sentinel carved from guilt and determination.

That's when I know we need to talk.

I catch Aspen's eye first, then Malrik's. A silent conversation passes between us—the kind that comes from months of being together, of reading each other's expressions in the space between heartbeats. Finn notices our wordless exchange and drifts closer, his usual grin notably absent.

Even Kieran, standing apart as always, seems to understand what's happening. He approaches our loose circle without being asked, his ancient eyes scanning the darkness where Kaia keeps her vigil.

Callum starts toward us, but Malrik's shadows shift, not threatening, exactly, but clear enough in their message. This conversation isn't for him.

"She's pushing too hard," I say once we're out of earshot, keeping my voice low. "Not just for Seren. For herself."

"Her magic's slipping," Aspen adds, worry bleeding through his usually controlled tone. "The shadows are lagging. She's running on fumes and doesn't realize it."

Finn runs a hand through his auburn hair, for once not reaching for a joke to lighten the mood. "She thinks saving Seren will redeem something she hasn't forgiven herself for. Like if she can just rescue one person, it'll balance out whatever scales she's been carrying around."

"She needs this to work," Malrik says quietly, his silver eyes distant. "To save someone. To not fail again."

The weight of that settles over us like a shroud.

We all know what 'again' refers to—not just Thorne's betrayal or the academy's fall, but something much older.

The Valkyries who died so she could live.

The entire race that was destroyed while she was hidden away, safe and ignorant.

The guilt of being the one who survived when everyone like her didn't. The weight of carrying an entire people's legacy when she never asked for it.

"It's too clean," Kieran speaks for the first time, his voice carrying centuries of tactical experience. "The convoy isn't hiding. They're not taking evasive routes or changing direction. They want to be followed."

"A trap?" Aspen's breath mists in the cold air, ice crystals forming around his fingers.

"Or bait," Kieran confirms. "And she's taking it because she can't afford not to."

The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken truths. We all see it, the way Kaia's driving herself toward whatever's waiting at the end of this chase, consequences be damned. The way she's turned Seren's potential captivity into a personal mission that's bigger than tactics or survival.

"We can't stop her," I say finally, because someone has to voice what we're all thinking.

"We don't want to stop her," Malrik corrects. "But we can keep her grounded."

"How?" Finn asks.

I look at each of them in turn—these men who've become brothers in all the ways that matter, bound together by something deeper than blood or magic. "We don't slow her down," I say. "We remind her why she has to lead, not just charge. We hold her up before she breaks."

Aspen nods, understanding immediately. "I'll stay close on her flank. Make sure she's eating, drinking. The basics she's ignoring."

"I'll manage our rest breaks," Malrik adds. "Under the guise of rechecking formations. Force her to stop without making it about her. "

"And I'll make space for her to talk," Finn says, his voice unusually serious. "When she's ready. If she's ready."

"I'll monitor terrain with actual scrutiny," Kieran finishes. "Not just Callum's word. If this is a trap, we'll be prepared."

It's a good plan. Simple. Focused on what we can control rather than what we can't. But as we separate back to our bedrolls, something cold settles in my stomach.

Because I've been watching Kaia all day, studying the rigid set of her shoulders and the desperate edge to her determination. And I think I finally understand what's driving her forward with such relentless purpose.

"She thinks she's chasing Seren," I say quietly, just loud enough for the others to hear. "But I think she's chasing forgiveness."

No one disagrees.

And that terrifies me more than any trap Alekir could possibly set.

Because forgiveness isn't something you can rescue from a convoy or earn through a perfectly executed mission. It's something you have to give yourself.

And Kaia's never been good at that.