Reid's boots crunched over the frost-bitten ground, each step a muted thud swallowed by the predawn stillness. The snow had settled thick overnight, turning the earth into a brittle crust that broke under his weight in small, muffled snaps. Even with padded soles, the ice's bite climbed through the leather, up into his calves. Each breath he drew stabbed at his lungs, and every exhale drifted upward in ghostly ribbons that the wind immediately shredded.
The forest ahead opened just enough to reveal enemy territory. Beyond the splintered treeline, the camp glowed faintly, a heartbeat of firelight pulsing in the dark. The glow wavered, dimmed, then flared, as though the camp itself breathed with some hidden lung beneath the snow. Orange and gold shimmered across the packed ground, twisting in the faint breeze until the light seemed alive, warping the shadows between skeletal trees.
Reid halted, gloved hand against a pine trunk, the cold seeping through to numb his fingers. He studied the restless movement of shadows around the flames, one passed the same way three times, marking a lazy patrol; another lingered too long behind a tent flap before vanishing. Each shift was stored in his mind until he could navigate it blind.
A whisper of movement drew his attention. Kaela's steps barely disturbed the frost, carrying the faint scent of oiled steel and winter herbs.
"You've been staring for ten minutes," she murmured, voice low enough to die between them. "Either we move, or they spot us."
Reid didn't turn. The Bond stirred at the edge of his thoughts, a ripple of heat in the cold. Patience, he told it.
Patience, it echoed, velvet-smooth. Patience is for prey.
He nearly smiled.
He signaled with one hand. Mara took his right, face unreadable. Lira slipped to his left, grin at odds with the night's chill. Two Red Fang scouts flanked the rear, eyes scanning. Allies, not his people.
They sank into the underbrush. Snowflakes spiraled from the canopy, burning against exposed skin. The air smelled of woodsmoke and pine resin.
The first sentry was poorly placed, half-hidden by a tent, trusting the light at his back. Lira moved without cue, her strike clean and silent. The torch hissed out in the snow.
A faint shimmer touched Reid's vision, essence absorbed. He ignored it. Ahead, the first anchor's bluish haze pulsed through snow and stakes.
"Anchor ahead," Mara breathed.
Reid exhaled, steady. The night's work had only begun.
Reid lowered himself into a crouch, the cold seeping through the gaps in his armor as the snow compacted beneath his knees. The anchor's glow pulsed faintly through the veil of windblown frost, steady but unnatural, a light that didn't belong to flame or moon. Around it, the air shimmered in subtle waves, bending the falling snowflakes into strange spirals as if they were caught in some invisible current.
He studied the ground between them and the anchor. The camp's inner ring was better guarded; two sentries leaned on their spears at opposite ends of a clearing, their silhouettes broken by the wavering firelight. More shadows moved in the tents beyond, shapes bending and shifting against the canvas walls.
The Bond's voice slid through his mind like silk over a blade. You could take them all before the others blink. Let me show you how.
Not yet, he answered inwardly, keeping his expression still.
Kaela moved up beside him, her hand finding the trunk of the same tree for cover. "Two on the near side," she whispered, barely moving her lips. "More further back. The glow's drawing attention, they're restless."
"Then we cut it out before they figure out why," Reid replied, his voice low enough to vanish in the hiss of wind through the branches.
Lira shifted behind them, already rolling her shoulders in anticipation. "How quiet are we keeping this?" she murmured.
"As quiet as the first one," Reid said, his gaze never leaving the sentries. "Mara, you take the far right. Lira, with me on the left. Kaela, cover our exit."
The snow muffled their movements, each step deliberate. Reid felt the weight of the air change as they broke from the treeline into the faint spill of firelight. The first sentry didn't notice until Mara's blade flashed at his throat, and by the time he reached for a warning cry, the sound died in his chest.
Reid's own target turned at the flicker of motion, but not fast enough. Reid caught the shaft of the man's spear and wrenched it aside, driving his elbow into the guard's ribs. The crack of bone was dull under the storm's hush, and the sentry folded into the snow.
The Bond stirred again, heat blooming in his chest. You're wasting this. Let me burn them from the inside out.
He ignored it, focusing on the anchor ahead. Now that he was closer, he could see it clearly, a crystalline spike driven deep into the earth, faint light bleeding from its facets. The glow pulsed in rhythm with the storm's wind, each beat sending a ripple through the packed snow at its base.
"Clear," Mara's voice came from the right.
Reid nodded once and stepped toward the anchor, the air thickening with each pace. It wasn't just light; there was a hum to it, a vibration that settled in his bones and made the fine hairs along his neck lift.
"Let's break it," he said.
The crystalline anchor resisted more than stone should. Reid's first strike with the edge of his blade sparked against its surface, the sound sharp enough to snap through the surrounding hush. The glow didn't falter — if anything, it flared in response, the pulse quickening until it almost matched the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Mara stepped in beside him, her sword biting deep enough to shear off a sliver of the crystal. It fell into the snow with a hiss, melting a shallow crater before fading to dull gray.
"That's not natural," she muttered.
The Bond's voice came again, threaded with an almost playful lilt. You're wasting your edge on scraps. Feed me, and I'll make it dust.
Reid ignored the invitation, scanning the perimeter. The other Red Fang scouts kept their distance, clearly unsettled by the anchor's radiance. Even Kaela, usually stone-faced, shifted her stance uneasily.
"Lira, try the other side," he ordered.
She darted around, boots silent in the snow, and drove her twin knives into the crystal's base. The surface fractured, fine lines spidering out from each point of impact. The hum deepened into a low thrumming that Reid felt in his teeth.
"They'll hear that," Kaela warned from her post at the treeline.
"Then we end it fast," Reid said.
He drove his blade down into one of Lira's fractures. This time, the crystal gave way with a sound like splitting ice on a frozen lake. Light erupted from the break, bathing the camp in a cold, unnatural glare.
Shouts rose from beyond the tents, not many, but close.
"Contacts!" Kaela's voice cut through.
The Bond surged in his thoughts, heat racing down his arms. Now. You can't afford restraint.
Reid clenched his jaw. "Mara, with me. Lira, finish it!"
The first two enemy fighters broke from between the tents, spears leveled. Reid met the charge head-on, parrying the first thrust wide and driving his shoulder into the man's chest. Snow exploded around them as the fighter went down. Mara intercepted the second, steel ringing as she caught his strike and twisted hard, sending his weapon spinning into the frost.
Behind them, Lira struck the crystal again. A second break spread, jagged and raw. The light bled faster now, dimming between flashes like a dying star.
One of the Red Fang scouts called a warning in their own tongue, Reid didn't catch the words, but the urgency in the tone was clear. More shapes moved in the dark, their footsteps muffled by the snow.
"Two minutes," Reid snapped.
The Bond's warmth pressed against his resolve, coaxing, tempting. Let me show you how little two minutes can be.
"Hold your tongue," he muttered under his breath, stepping over the downed fighter and driving toward the next. His blade caught the faint gleam of firelight before slicing cleanly across the man's guard.
The camp erupted into motion around them, but the anchor's glow faltered again, weaker, but still holding.
"Lira!" Reid barked.
"Almost there!" she called back, her knives flashing in the cold light.
Reid risked a glance. Another fracture raced across the anchor's surface, light spilling from it in thin, wavering beams. The hum became a rasp, as if whatever force within struggled to keep itself contained.
And then, a crack loud enough to silence the fight.
The crystal split, collapsing into itself in a cascade of dull shards. The cold glow winked out, leaving only the muted orange of the camp's firelight and the labored breaths of those still standing.
For a heartbeat, the night was still. Then the shouts began again, angrier this time.
"Move!" Reid ordered, his voice cutting through the cold.
They didn't need telling twice.
They ran the moment the crystal died, not in panic but in the kind of practiced retreat that looks like it was planned all along. Kaela swung them toward a narrow service alley where the snow hadn't been packed down, footprints disappearing as new flakes fell. The camp roared behind them, boots thudding, canvas snapping, orders cutting the cold in harsh syllables.
"Left," Kaela hissed, and they knifed between two gear sheds rimed with frost.
A polearm slammed into the shed wall an arm's length from Reid's head, its hooked blade biting wood and sticking. The wielder—a tall fighter in layered leather stamped with thin, black sigils, wrenched to free it. Reid didn't give him the chance. He seized the haft with both hands, twisted hard, and drove an elbow into the man's mask as the polearm came loose. Bone or metal, whatever it was, cracked. The fighter toppled, breath fogging the air in ragged bursts.
More shadows spilled into the alley. Mara stepped into them, all sharp economy. She took a thrust on the flat of her blade, rolled it, and repaid the effort with a short, brutal cut that left the attacker folded over his own knees. Lira slid past Reid, flicking a knife at a visor slit and disappearing before the body hit the snow.
The Bond warmed in Reid's chest, a murmur curling against his ribs. You keep refusing the shortest path. Watch how long the long one takes.
He didn't answer. He didn't have the breath to spare.
They cleared the alley and cut across a lane where trampled snow had turned slick and gray. A horn blared, closer now, answered by two more from opposite sides of the camp. A third tone, lower and longer, rolled over the tents and made the hair on Reid's arms rise.
"Different call," Lira said, skidding beside him. "Not theirs."
Kaela's eyes flicked up. "Commanders."
"Or something they don't bring out until it matters," Mara said.
They hit the outer stockade, sharpened stakes shoulder-high, lashed with frozen rope—and found the gap Kaela had marked on the way in: two poles pulled apart to create a supply passage. A chain had been run through the opening now; the padlock was fresh and mean-looking.
Lira's grin flashed. "Rude." She set two teeth of metal into the lock, listened to it like a puzzle telling her its rules, and popped it in three heartbeats.
Kaela shouldered the gate. It didn't move.
"Frozen," she said.
Mara put her shoulder in too. The wood groaned. The chain rattled. The gap widened half a hand, then a hand and a half.
"Through," Kaela ordered.
Reid ducked and forced his way, the stakes scraping his pack. Beyond the fence, the world was quieter, a strip of unbroken snow running into black pines. Freedom tasted like iron and cold.
"Move," he said, and they did.
They were twenty strides into the trees when the first of the elites hit the fence behind them. A chorus of metal and hard breath followed, the sound of trained people solving a problem quickly.
"Don't run in a straight line," Kaela warned. "They'll track on sound."
"I'll give them something else to chase," Lira said, veering off and dragging her blade across a birch trunk with a nails-on-stone screech that made Reid's teeth ache. Three more slashes, each from a new angle, and then she was back at his shoulder, looking every bit too pleased with herself.
He didn't have time to scold her. A weight shifted beneath the snow ahead with the soft, treacherous sigh of a drift lying about its depth.
"Stop," Reid snapped.
They halted as one. The drift sagged where it should have held. A pit. Crude, but deep, lined with broken stakes meant to make anyone who fell remember the lesson forever.
Kaela's mouth tightened. "They trapped their own perimeter."
"Or expected visitors," Mara said. She threw a dead branch into the drift. It vanished in silence. "Path right."
They edged along a seam of exposed roots, the trees suddenly closer, branches low and heavy with snow. The forest's quiet seemed to return in layers. First the horns receded. Then the shouts. Then only the crunch of their feet and the hiss of falling flakes remained.
Reid let hope flirt with the idea of breathing, too early.
A gray shape detached from a trunk ahead and landed in the snow without a sound. Another took a knee on a rock to their left. A third stepped out behind them, cutting off the line back to the fence. All wore the same dark sigil-worked armor, plates inked with thin lines that drank moonlight. The marks looked like written arguments that refused to end.
The one in front lifted a palm. "Stop."
They did, not because he asked, but because Kaela decided standing was the smarter choice for the next two seconds than moving. She eased an arrow to the string without drawing, a promise rather than a threat.
"State your business," the elite said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. Calm. Professional. Not theatrical like the council's ceremonial guards.
Lira's whisper tickled Reid's ear. "Do we have a business?"
"Leaving," Mara said.
The elite's gaze slipped to Reid and stuck. Not to the sword. Not to his stance. To his eyes—like he was reading a reflection there.
The Bond breathed against Reid's thoughts. He sees the seam on you. Offer him a piece. He'll offer you something useful in return, his throat.
"Your anchors are gone," Reid said. "You can either chase ghosts all night or you can live to report that."
A laugh ghosted from one of the elites behind them, quickly smothered. The leader didn't react.
"You're not as loud as the reports said," the elite told Reid. He took two casual steps closer. "Good. Loud makes mistakes I like." His gaze flicked to the trees over Reid's shoulder. "You have thirty seconds before the outer squads get their angles."
Kaela spoke without looking away from the leader. "And how many seconds do you have before mine get theirs?"
A beat. Snow fell between them like slow ash.
The elite's helm tilted, amused. "If you had shooters, I'd be dead."
Kaela's arrowhead rose a fraction. "Check the ridge."
Reid almost smiled. He didn't need to look to know she had sightlines. He'd watched her measure them three hours ago when the sky was still steel and the campfire glow was a rumor.
The leader didn't look. He didn't need to either. He made his choice.
"Stand down," he said, and the elites didn't.
They moved together, one pivoting high, one sweeping low. The leader came straight on. Kaela's arrow snapped and took the low man through the hip. Lira met the high one in midair, blades a short glitter. Mara stepped into the leader's path, steel on steel, the impact ringing like a hammer strike in winter air.
Reid slipped inside the leader's guard as Mara turned him and struck, not lethal, but decisive. The man lost his footing and hit the snow. Reid knelt on the arm that still held a knife, drive and twist. The knife went away.
"Choices," Reid said, breath hard. "Pick one fast."
The man spat pink against the snow and tried to buck him. Strong. Stubborn. The Bond hummed approval in Reid's bones. Break him. The forest will muffle the education.
"Reid," Kaela warned. Not a plea. A clock.
Lira's fight finished with a grunt and a fall. She came up breathing hard, hair stuck with snow, and flashed a quick look that was equal parts adrenaline and mischief. "He's napping."
Mara had her opponent pinned at the throat with the spine of her blade, letting the weight of it talk for her. "Two more moving on our right," she said, eyes not leaving the man under her.
Reid looked down at the elite leader. The sigils on the man's armor were duller this close, scratched, repaired, old kit lovingly kept. Professional, not zealot.
"Orders?" Reid asked him.
The man huffed. "Close the hole you made and bring back proof you're dead."
"Hard orders," Lira said. "You should unionize."
"Enough," Kaela said. "We're done here."
Reid released the elite, stood, and stepped back. "You saw us take it apart," he said. "Tell whoever cares that the next one won't be inside a fence."
The man didn't nod. He didn't need to. He'd already decided what to report the moment he realized he was still breathing.
They moved, not running, running draws certain kinds of shots—but fast enough that the trees took them. Kaela led them through a lattice of young birch and deadfall that swallowed sound. Twice she cut left when right looked easier. Once she sent them prone as a squad passed ten strides away, breath pluming in steady, disciplined clouds.
Only when the camp's light had dwindled to a faint smudge behind the trunks did Kaela call a halt. They tucked into a shallow depression ringed by brush and a fallen spruce. It wasn't a camp. It was a pause that looked like the forest had grown it.
Lira flopped into the snow with a dramatic sigh, then shivered and sat up straighter. "Next time we steal their lunch before we smash their plates."
Mara checked the edge of her blade with a thumb and spared Lira half an eye. "Next time you don't announce our exit with a birch solo."
"It worked," Lira said, unabashed. She flicked snow off her lashes and gave Reid a sideways smile. "Still upright?"
"Barely," he said.
The Bond, satisfied and smug, stretched like a cat inside his chest. You're learning to choose. Keep choosing toward me.
Kaela didn't sit. She stood watch, eyes on the dark between two trunks, shoulders still. Only when she was sure the night belonged to them again did she glance down. "Three anchors down," she said quietly. "That breaks their net for a while."
"For a while," Mara echoed. "They'll lay new lines."
Reid reached into his coat and pulled out the medallion he'd taken earlier, the one etched with curling sigils burned into the metal. It felt colder than the air. He turned it once in his palm and tucked it away again.
"We keep moving west," he said. "Find the next seam before they do."
Kaela nodded, nothing like relief in her face, only agreement. Lira bumped her shoulder lightly against Reid's, a wordless still here. Mara resettled her sword and glanced toward the black slope beyond the brush.
Snow sifted down, soft and steady.
"Up in five," Kaela said. "Drink. Teeth chattering gets us killed."
Reid took a swallow from his canteen, let the cold water bite, and capped it. He listened for horns. For boots. For anything but the forest being a forest.
Nothing came.
"Alright," he said, pushing to a knee. "Next anchor. Let's make them miss it before they know it's gone."