The damp stone of the rear escape tunnel gave way to soft, pine-needle-covered earth after nearly forty minutes of silent marching.
The air outside the subterranean passage was noticeably warmer, hinting at the vast, low-lying basin known as the Shadow Ridge Valleys. Miles behind them, the snow-capped spires of the Clover Council Domain sat buried in a thick blanket of twilight mist, unaware that their quarry had officially slipped beyond the perimeter of their ancient jurisdiction.
Kyle walked near the head of the procession, one arm wrapped around Yua's waist as she helped balance his lingering fatigue. Every few paces, his boots sank into the damp moss, the natural scent of wet soil and alpine cedar washing away the bitter tang of ozone and sulfur that had clung to his clothes since the hell dump.
