Anastasia came back across the fissure at dawn.
Vane was already awake.
Most of them were.
Nobody had slept properly. An hour at a time, perhaps. Less for some. The night had passed in fragments—someone shifting near the fire, Isole checking bandages again, Nyx looking toward the trees whenever the wind changed.
So when the tail of light appeared across the fissure in the grey morning, all six of them were on their feet before Anastasia stepped onto it.
She crossed the same way she had left.
Without looking down.
One step.
Then another.
The fox stood on the far side for only a moment. By the time Anastasia reached them, she was already gone.
The bridge of light disappeared with her.
Anastasia stopped.
Her eyes were dry.
Her hair was pinned back exactly as it always was.
Her coat was buttoned to the throat.
Everything about her had been put back in order.
Vane had known her for three years.
He knew how little that meant.
Valerica approached first.
