They kept to the quieter northern track for two more days after leaving the merchant carriage. The land rose in long, shallow waves of stone and thin soil. Old markers lined the road at irregular intervals, their faces worn smooth by weather and time. Traffic thinned to the occasional trader with a single pack animal or a lone hunter moving in the opposite direction.
Ressa renewed the temporary pigments on her face each morning before the light fully settled. The hood stayed low over her hair. Aiden held the incubus signature muted and kept the ordered power at a steady, low level that did not draw notice.
They walked in silence for most of those hours. The road demanded attention—loose gravel underfoot, sudden drops where the track cut along a ridge, stretches where the wind carried the scent of distant pine. Aiden watched the horizon out of habit. No pursuit showed. The muted signature held. Ressa matched his pace without complaint, her steps measured and quiet.
