No one slept.
Not even a little.
Who can even sleep in this situation wherein their Summoner is in danger?
The campfire had long died out, leaving only the cold glow of the moon, but nobody felt its light. The group sat or paced in blistering silence, all still breathless from having chased the cloaked man for hours—only to lose him at the mountain ridge.
Zann's knuckles were raw from punching trees. Leonel's hands trembled every time he thought about the moment Aranea disappeared from his grasp. Elenea had cried until her voice broke, and Beau hadn't cracked a single joke.
Aerin and Auron sat cross-legged beside a stone slab, runes spread like constellations around them—glowing threads of light and darkness weaving between their palms as they attempted to pick apart the kidnapper's magic.
Every time the runes sputtered, Aerin cursed under her breath. Every time the magic flared too violently, Auron steadied her with one hand and murmured, "Focus."
