Following Crimson, John stepped out of the sect's towering gates and into the nearby wilderness.
The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and wildflowers, and the ground crunched softly beneath his boots as they made their way through the morning mist.
Not far ahead, two familiar figures stood waiting, Benneca, with her usual unreadable, monotonous expression, and Clark, whose lips curled into a disdainful smirk the moment his gaze fell on John.
Benneca's dark eyes met his without a flicker of emotion. "I hope my sword is somewhere safe," she said flatly, as if stating a fact rather than expressing concern.
John's mouth quirked upward. "I hope that too." He tilted his head slightly. "By the way… how far are we going?"
"Five days." Clark held up five fingers, his tone smug as if he were pleased to announce the number. "It would take us five days."
John's brows rose. "No one told me that we'd have to walk for five days."
