The scholar was late.
Kaela stood at the edge of the stables, arms crossed, jaw tight. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting pale gold across the frost-laced fields, but she'd been ready for an hour. Her horse was saddled. Her gear packed. Her patience—already thin—was wearing through.
She hated delays. Delays meant uncertainty. Uncertainty meant danger.
Footsteps echoed down the stone path. She turned.
The man approaching was not what she expected.
He wore a dark cloak, hood lowered, revealing tousled black hair and a face too composed for someone claiming to be a mere scholar. His eyes—gray, sharp, unreadable—met hers without flinching. He moved like someone used to command, not parchment.
Kaela's instincts flared.
"Kaela of the Ember Guard?" he asked, voice low, smooth.
She nodded once. "You're the scholar?"
"Yes. Aric."
A lie. She didn't know why she was certain, but she was.
He extended a scroll. "My clearance."
She scanned it. Official. Sealed. Perfectly forged, if it was false.
"You're late," she said.
"I was gathering final notes," he replied. "The ruins near the Rift are… volatile. I needed to prepare."
Kaela narrowed her eyes. "You'll stay close. No wandering. No surprises."
"Understood."
They mounted their horses in silence. The road ahead stretched into mist and shadow, winding toward the borderlands where monsters stirred and secrets slept.
Kaela didn't speak.
Aric didn't push.
But as they rode side by side, she felt it—the weight of something unspoken. A tension that wasn't danger, but something deeper. Older.
Familiar.
She didn't know his name wasn't Aric.
She didn't know he was the man she'd sworn to kill.
And he didn't know how long he could keep the truth buried.