EMMA'S POV
The old crossing revealed itself slowly, not as a structure but as a wound in the land.
The river that once defined it had retreated years ago, shrinking into a narrow, stubborn vein that cut through rock and silt. What remained was a wide scar of stone and broken timber where bridges had been built, burned, rebuilt, and abandoned again. The past clung here stubbornly, layered over itself like sediment, each era leaving behind its failure.
Afin slowed as they approached, raising a closed fist.
The group halted instantly.
From their position above the ravine, the crossing lay exposed. Sunlight reflected off pale stone and shallow water, making the place look deceptively harmless. But Afin had learned that emptiness was never neutral. If a place like this looked unguarded, it meant one of two things: no one cared, or someone was very confident.
He crouched and studied the ground.
Tracks.
Not old.
