I face toward the path without waiting for him to answer, trusting he’ll follow because he always does when it matters, even when he pretends the choice is still his. The air feels different now, as if something unseen has started moving in response to what we’ve set in motion, and the shape of it forming just out of reach, but close.
Zethon will not ignore this. Velkiron is already pushing too far. Xalith won’t stop. Everything is about to collide and we’re standing where it’s going to happen.
34
VAEDROS
We don’t get far before I feel it. It isn’t movement in the careless sense, nothing that disturbs the rhythm of the forest or breaks the natural flow of sound, but something more precise, a presence held just beyond immediate sight, positioned rather than wandering, waiting instead of following, and that alone is enough to shift my attention fully onto it.
I slow without signaling the reason, letting the adjustment appear as a natural change in pace, and behind me Aeryn mirrors it almost instantly, her awareness stretching outward in the same direction as mine.
“Another one?” she asks, her voice low but steady, already aligned with the shift.
“Yes,” I reply, keeping my gaze forward.
“How many?”
“One.”
That answer settles something between us, because a single presence like this carries a different meaning than a unit, less force, more intent.
“This isn’t a scout,” I add.
“No,” she agrees after a moment. “It isn’t.”
We continue forward without breaking path, letting the terrain dictate the encounter instead of avoiding it, because avoidance would only extend the problem rather than resolve it.
Within a short distance the forest opens just enough to remove concealment from both sides. The figure steps into view as if responding to that shift, emerging from the trees ahead, dressed for movement rather than battle, but the posture is unmistakable.
Drazharel.
He doesn’t reach for a weapon, doesn’t attempt to close distance, which tells me everything about the nature of this encounter before a word is spoken.
“I’ll handle this,” I say.
Aeryn watches me for a brief moment, her gaze sharp, then gives a small nod and steps back just enough to create space without removing herself entirely, maintaining position while allowing the exchange to happen on my terms.
“You’re difficult to reach,” the operative says as I approach, his tone neutral, though the calculation behind it is clear in how his eyes track every movement.
“You’re not meant to,” I reply.
“That’s changing.”
“Is it?”
He holds my gaze before continuing, his posture settling into something more formal. “Your window is closing.”
I don’t respond, because the statement carries no new information, only urgency meant to force a reaction.
“The house has already adjusted,” he adds. “Faster than expected.”
“Xalith tends to do that.”
“Yes,” he says, watching me closely. “Which is why you’re here.”
The implication sits between us, but I let it remain unanswered.
“The terms remain unchanged,” he continues. “Retrieve the artifact. Eliminate the seer. Your position is restored.” he whispers so only I can hear.