I shook Silven Dorne's hand in the dark, and it felt exactly like I imagined it would—a cold, dry promise that no one involved would enjoy the price.
When we let go, there was no polite nod, no fake smile, no sudden declaration of trust. Just business. His guards shifted, clearly annoyed at the time lost on the road. Silven didn't look back at me as he mounted his horse.
"Be ready," he said, voice like rusted steel. "You've made your choice. Don't make me regret tolerating you."
I didn't bother answering. I just turned and melted back into the trees, listening to the horse snort and the wagon creak as they resumed their slow, cautious journey to Ashveil.
By the time I reached the city limits, dawn was a greasy smear on the horizon. I had the taste of dirt and old leaves in my mouth. My coat was ruined for good, the lining torn and snagged by branches. My legs felt like they were made of wood, my back hurt from hours of crouching and creeping like a particularly self-loathing fox.
