The JLTV rattled down the high road with its usual mechanical growl, steady as a heartbeat. The mist thinned as they descended, cliffs giving way to open fields and farm roads where peasants paused mid-harvest to gape at the machine's bulk. The morning sun caught on the steel, casting long shadows ahead of them, like a herald warning Elandra of what rolled its way home.
In the back, Vane shifted against the ropes. His mouth was gagged, but his eyes burned with unspoken curses. Lyra kept her bow across her lap anyway. She didn't trust silence, not from him.
"He'll try something," she murmured.
Inigo, hands steady on the wheel, didn't glance back. "Not with those knots."
"Knots hold rope. They don't hold pride."
He allowed a small grunt at that. "Then we'll bring both to Thorne."
