The fire had burned to white ash by the time I stirred. The sky above us stretched in pale bands of dawn—soft blue bleeding into gold, thin clouds like gauze. It should have felt calm. It didn't.
Shadow stood at the edge of the ridge, his body still and ears high. Not tense. Not relaxed. Just… watching.
I sat up slowly, unrolling the stiffness from my spine as I pushed the blanket from my lap. The ground was cold, but dry. The kind of cold that didn't bite unless you let it, and I didn't.
Yaozu was already awake, crouched near the horses, checking the cinch on the saddles with slow, practiced fingers. He moved like he always moved—efficient, quiet, dangerous. A man built for shadow, for silence, for finishing what others couldn't.
He didn't greet me, and I didn't expect him to.
