Chapter 72 – The River Divide
They lingered on the riverbank longer than either admitted was wise. The water, swollen from early thaw in the highlands, churned black and fast between ice-crusted rocks. The mist clinging to it made shapes in the cold air—distorted only by the wind and the current. The kind of place where one bad step could end a man.
Elira crouched, dipping a gloved hand into the icy flow. The shock was instant, biting through the leather.
"Too strong," she murmured, watching a branch twist in the current before vanishing under the foam. "It would drag us under before we reached the middle."
Kairo stood a few paces behind, not watching the water at all. His eyes were locked on the far slope, where the rider they'd been trailing had disappeared nearly an hour ago. He wasn't searching now—he was remembering. The slope. The tree line. The faint cut of a trail hidden behind rock. Every detail was filed away.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and certain.
"We circle north. There's an old ford near the Red Marker. We can cross before nightfall."
Elira rose. "And if they're waiting on the other side?"
His gaze flicked to hers.
"Then we stop waiting for them."
She almost smiled—sharp, brief—but her eyes lingered on the reinforced case strapped under his coat. Inside were the encrypted drives, sealed and triple-protected. The longer they carried them, the more the weight pressed on her. Not in any physical sense—it was the knowledge of what they contained. Names. Accounts. Photographs. Enough leverage to start wars or end dynasties.
"Do you feel it?" she asked suddenly.
Kairo's brows narrowed. "Feel what?"
"The change. Since the harbor. The way people look at us now." She hesitated. "Like they know we're carrying something worth killing for."
His jaw tightened.
"That's why we keep moving. The longer we stay in one place, the easier we are to track."
They moved north, staying low and using the frost-stiffened brush for cover. The valley floor widened, and an old road appeared—half-buried under grass and ice, its broken stones jutting through the frost.
At the edge of the road stood a signpost, or what was left of one. The wood was splintered, the carved letters worn away by years of weather.
Elira brushed frost from it. "Nothing left. No names."
"It was never meant for outsiders," Kairo said. "Only for those who already knew where they were going."
They followed the road in silence until the land began to rise, folding into low hills. The air sharpened, carrying a faint scent of pine—and something else.
Elira stopped, head lifting slightly. "Smoke."
"Too faint to be close," Kairo said, but he was already scanning the ridge ahead.
They found the source minutes later—an abandoned campsite tucked into a hollow. The firepit was still warm, its ashes faintly glowing under a quick scatter of damp earth.
Kairo crouched, brushing the dirt aside. "They covered it in a hurry."
Elira's eyes moved over the hollow. Two bedrolls. Empty saddle packs. A scrap of fabric snagged on a branch—a weave she didn't recognize.
"They were here last night," she said. "Probably the rider and one other."
Kairo straightened. "No footprints?"
"They covered those too."
He looked north. "They're not hiding from us. They're hiding from someone else."
The words were heavier than the frost.
By midday they reached the Red Marker—a massive standing stone streaked with iron. Beyond it, the old ford stretched across the river, shallow but broken by slick, ice-covered rocks.
Kairo crossed first, slow and deliberate, testing each step. The water surged around his boots, numbing through the thick leather. Elira followed, her eyes on the far bank, every muscle tight.
They made it across without incident, but the silence beyond was different—dense, watching. Even the wind felt muted.
Kairo raised a hand, halting her.
She scanned the trees. At first she saw nothing. Then—just a faint glint, deep in the shadows.
A rifle scope.
The shot didn't come. Instead, a voice cut through the still air.
"You're far from the Hollow, Kairo Seo. And carrying something that doesn't belong to you."
Kairo didn't turn his head. "Step out."
A figure emerged—black tactical gear, the kind used by high-end private contractors. His rifle was lowered, but not safe. His face was shadowed under a hood, but the pale eyes that met Kairo's were cold and professional.
Three more followed. Their posture wasn't that of street muscle—they moved like soldiers.
Elira's hand drifted to her dagger. "Friends of yours?"
Kairo's lips curved slightly, without humor. "No. But I know the type."
The leader's gaze flicked to the case under Kairo's coat. "Hand it over, and you walk away."
Kairo's reply was ice. "You'll have to do better than that."
The man's eyes narrowed. "We will."
Branches shifted as more figures moved in the shadows.