Morning clung to the room in soft layers—curtains half-drawn, light dusting the floor like it wasn't sure it belonged yet.

  Zoe was already dressed.

  Jacket zipped. Hair tied. Bag slung over her shoulder with the quiet certainty of someone who'd decided to move before doubt could catch up. She glanced once at the couch.

  Noah was a shape under blankets. A deliberate one.

  "Get up," Zoe said, not unkindly. "We're going."

  A pause.

  Then, from beneath the blanket—flat, unbothered:

  "No."

  Zoe crossed her arms. "No as in no, or no as in you're pretending not to hear me?"

  The blanket shifted. One corner dipped, revealing a single eye—sharp, awake, entirely unimpressed.

  "No as in I'm staying right here. You've got a new friend today, right? Go. Live. Let me remain horizontal."

  "You said you'd come," Zoe shot back. "Since when do you meet people and suddenly turn observational? Yesterday you were fine."

  "I said I'd consider it," Noah corrected calmly. "Then I remembered how it goes."

  He pushed the blanket down just enough to sit up, hair a mess, voice steady.

  "Everyone talks at once. Topics change mid-sentence. Half the time you're arguing about something that stopped being relevant two minutes ago. I don't enjoy chaos disguised as bonding."

  Zoe scoffed. "You're unbelievable."

  "I'm precise," he replied. "You're the one who woke up early. That alone makes today suspicious."

  She stepped closer and nudged the blanket with her foot. "It's just wandering the Academy. You don't even have to talk."

  "That's incorrect," Noah said. "You always talk at me when you say that."

  Zoe opened her mouth—

  And stopped.

  From outside the door came a clear, cheerful voice.

  "Zoe? You ready?"

  Zoe froze.

  Noah went still.

  Not tense — attentive.

  Like he'd already been listening for footsteps and finally found the right ones.

  Slowly, deliberately, he sat up fully now.

  "...Is someone," he asked, voice even, "standing outside our door?"

  Zoe winced. "Maybe."

  His gaze flicked to the door. Back to her. Narrowed slightly.

  "Is that the girl you met yesterday?"

  "...Yes."

  A pause.

  "Did you give her our address."

  "She's my friend."

  Noah stared at her. Blinked once.

  "You met her one day ago," he said flatly. "Twenty-four hours. Not even closed. You don't even like most people after a week."

  "She's not most people," Zoe snapped, heat flaring now. "I met her cousin too. Her cousin was—okay, weird—but not bad."

  Noah's head tilted. "You met her family?"

  "Not family," Zoe corrected quickly. "Yet. But she could be. If she wanted."

  Outside, the voice shifted closer. Amused now.

  "Zoe? I can hear you arguing."

  Zoe groaned. "Anaia—one second!"

  Noah leaned back against the couch, blankets pooling at his waist, expression unreadable.

  "So," he said quietly. "You're leaving."

  "For a bit."

  "With the person you met yesterday."

  "Yes."

  A beat.

  "You move fast," he said—not accusing. Observing.

  "You stay still," Zoe shot back. Then, softer but sharper, "That doesn't make me reckless. And it doesn't make you right."

  Another pause.

  "...You don't know her yet," Noah said.

  Zoe stood at the door, hand on the handle. She didn't turn around.

  "That's exactly why I'm going."

  She opened it.

  Anaia stood there, sunlight at her back, easy smile in place—until her eyes flicked past Zoe and landed on Noah half-wrapped in blankets.

  Her brows lifted. "Oh."

  Noah raised a hand slightly. "Don't get comfortable."

  Anaia laughed, startled. "Good morning to you too."

  Zoe slipped past her into the corridor. "I'll be back later."

  Noah watched her go.

  "You always say that," he called.

  She glanced back once, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "And you always are."

  The door closed softly.

  Footsteps faded.

  Noah stayed still.

  He listened — not just to the corridor emptying, but to the echo it left behind.

  The same quiet he'd noticed before she opened the door.

  Only now, it meant something else.

  The room settled—blankets cooling, music unplayed, quiet folding back into itself.

  Noah lay back, staring at the ceiling.

  "...One day," he muttered. "And already stealing my mornings."

  He didn't pull the blanket back over his head.

  He listened instead —

  to the absence of her steps,

  to the world continuing without him.

  And stayed.

  ---

  The Academy stretched awake around them.

  Stone corridors warmed by sunlight, banners stirring lazily as if they, too, were still deciding what kind of day it would be. Students passed in clusters—laughing, arguing, pretending not to stare. The place always felt alive in a way that bordered on intentional.

  Zoe walked beside Anaia, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, eyes roaming. She looked like she was wandering, but she was listening. Always listening.

  "So," Anaia said, breaking the silence, "what do you think so far?"

  Zoe tilted her head. "It's... pretty. Every time I visit, it doesn't feel any less."

  "That's the trick," Anaia replied. "You think you understand it after a week. Then you turn a corner and realize there's an entire wing you've never seen."

  Zoe smirked. "That explains the map."

  Anaia laughed. "Oh, the map lies. On purpose."

  They passed a courtyard where sunlight pooled like spilled gold. A few students practiced quietly—games, mechanics, something in between. Zoe slowed without meaning to.

  "You don't look overwhelmed," Anaia observed.

  "I am," Zoe said calmly. "I just don't panic in public."

  Anaia glanced at her, curiosity sharpening. "You're... different."

  Zoe hummed. "I hear that a lot."

  They walked on.

  The Academy seemed to listen too—footsteps echoing softer here, louder there, like the walls were rearranging their attention.

  "My family comes by sometimes," Anaia said suddenly, as if she hadn't planned to say it at all. "They live close. Well—close enough."

  Zoe didn't react immediately. She waited. Let the sentence finish itself.

  "I mean—" Anaia continued, rubbing the back of her neck, "not all of them at once. That would be... a lot. But if you ever want, you could come by. Just for dinner. Or tea. Or chaos."

  A pause.

  "Judie and Darwin liked you. A lot."

  Zoe looked at her then. Really looked.

  "You're inviting me to meet your family," she said.

  Anaia smiled, a little crooked. "I am."

  Zoe considered it—not the offer, but what it meant to make one.

  "I'll think about it," she said gently.

  "That's a yes," Anaia decided.

  Zoe snorted. "That's optimism."

  "Same thing."

  They stopped near an open balcony. The city stretched beyond, layered and restless. Zoe leaned against the stone railing.

  "Do you always invite people this fast?" she asked.

  Anaia shrugged. "No. But you don't feel like someone who stays on the outside long. You either walk in... or disappear."

  Then, quieter:

  "And what you did for Judie and Darwin—I don't think you realize how much that mattered."

  Zoe's mouth curved—not quite a smile.

  "Bold assumption."

  "Educated guess," Anaia corrected.

  A bell rang somewhere above them. Not urgent. Just a reminder that time existed.

  Anaia pushed off the wall. "Come on. I'll show you the part they don't put on tours."

  Zoe straightened, falling into step beside her.

  She didn't say yes.

  She didn't say no.

  She just nodded once—small, thoughtful.

  And followed.

  ---

  The Academy hallway smelled faintly of wax and polished stone, sunlight slanting through the tall windows in lazy streaks. A girl, impatient, tapped her foot near the reception desk.

  "Lady Scion isn't available?" she pressed, tone sharper than polite curiosity.

  Ma'am Kate, calm and deliberate, didn't flinch. "She isn't," she said softly but firmly. "Please leave this for another time."

  The girl's frown deepened. "I only need a moment!"

  "No," Ma'am Kate repeated, even quieter, final, leaving no room for argument.

  From a few steps back, Anaia leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, eyes tracking the scene with interest. Her lips curved slightly.

  "Cecilia Di," she said, almost casually, like dropping a name that carried weight.

  Zoe blinked. "You know her?"

  Anaia only gave a slow nod, subtle but unmistakable, before walking toward the girl. Zoe followed, curiosity pulling her along.

  Cecilia turned, a mix of frustration and surprise flickering across her face. "It was my third try," she muttered, disappointment tightening her tone.

  Anaia stopped a pace away, grin playful, voice low. "Peekaboo."

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Cecilia blinked. "You?"

  "It's been a while," Anaia said smoothly, letting the pause stretch. "Di."

  Cecilia pressed her lips together, then parted them as if a hundred questions were spinning just behind her eyes. Her amber gaze flicked to Zoe, who stayed quiet, observing.

  Anaia leaned slightly forward, lowering her voice. "Patience isn't exactly your forte, is it?"

  Cecilia's frown softened into a reluctant smile. "Not when someone—or something—keeps evading me."

  Anaia's grin deepened. "Then I suppose you'll have to try again... carefully this time."

  Cecilia's eyes narrowed. "It seems you study here."

  Anaia nodded. "Well... it seems you're looking for someone."

  Cecilia's amber gaze hardened slightly. "Yes. Scion. My dad isn't eager, but I heard she's preparing. There's something stirring—some mysterious organization has been more active lately. They've got their own agenda."

  Zoe tilted her head, curiosity bubbling. "You two... know each other that well?"

  Anaia's nod was quick, subtle, but carried weight. "Long enough," she said. "Di and I... we've crossed paths before. More than once. Family, but not... close."

  Cecilia's lips pressed together. "Family matters should stay within the family."

  Anaia only nodded.

  Cecilia's gaze flicked from Anaia to Zoe and back. "And you're... bringing her into this?"

  "She's not new to this world," Anaia said lightly. "Just new to you. Don't underestimate her. She even helped Judie."

  Cecilia's jaw tightened. "That doesn't make her close. You're so easy, Anaia, after all these years."

  Anaia chuckled softly. "Oh, come on. Don't be suspicious of everything like Uncle."

  Cecilia's frown deepened, sharp and protective. "Don't bring my dad into this."

  "I didn't mean that..." Anaia said quickly, hands raised slightly, calm but teasing.

  Zoe's eyebrows lifted, subtle but noticeable, taking in the dynamic. She said nothing, but her chest hummed with curiosity.

  Cecilia exhaled slowly, a mix of awe and frustration, and her posture softened—reluctant respect settling into the space between them.

  Anaia's grin lingered, playful yet knowing, as the three of them stood there in the hallway—a corridor suddenly smaller, heavy with past connections, history, and the unspoken weight of names that carried meaning far beyond the walls.

  ---

  The lower corridor was colder. Less light. Less noise.

  The kind of place where meetings weren't announced—only kept.

  Cecilia rounded the corner and stopped.

  Mora stood near the archway, dark coat loose over her shoulders, posture relaxed in the way of someone who never needed to hurry. She was already preparing to leave. Two—no, three—figures lingered behind her, faces hidden beneath hoods, their presence disciplined, weighty. Not guards. Not shadows.

  Executors.

  "You're late," Mora said.

  No irritation. No heat.

  Just fact.

  Cecilia straightened instinctively. "I tried to arrive sooner, but matters beyond my control delayed me."

  Mora's gaze slid past her.

  For one heartbeat—only one—her eyes met Zoe's.

  The corridor seemed to narrow.

  Zoe felt it immediately: not fear—awareness. A sudden accounting of her breath, her stance, the exact position of her hands. Her fingers curled at her side, a tremor threatening to betray her—but she held herself steady. She did not step back. She did not look away.

  Mora looked away first.

  "Excuses age poorly," she said, turning slightly. "Say what you came to say."

  Cecilia frowned. "You don't even want to hear why I'm here?"

  "If it mattered," Mora replied, "you wouldn't be late."

  The words landed clean. Surgical.

  Cecilia's jaw tightened. "People are talking. About that night. About the ones who disappeared when they became inconvenient to you."

  Her voice hardened, professional anger carefully leashed. "Everyone knows it was your Rhetorical Accords."

  Mora stopped.

  Not fully. Just enough.

  "So, you make me wait here for your assumptions? About that—" Mora's voice was calm, deliberate.

  "They weren't victims," she said. "They forgot who fed them. Just because they failed to bite..."

  One of the hooded figures shifted, almost imperceptibly. Another glanced at Zoe for half a second, then lowered their head again.

  Cecilia exhaled sharply. "This is exactly why people struggle to work with you."

  Mora didn't turn.

  "Then they should stop trying," she replied. "Truth doesn't answer to crowds."

  She moved then—past Cecilia, past Zoe—close enough that Zoe caught the faint scent of metal and smoke. Mora didn't touch her. Didn't threaten her. Didn't acknowledge her again.

  But the message lingered all the same.

  You're seen.

  You're noted.

  Not today.

  The corridor felt emptier once they were gone.

  Cecilia let out a breath she'd clearly been holding. "Unbelievable," she muttered. "Who even was that to you?"

  Zoe swallowed, her heartbeat still loud. "She's... something else."

  A pause. "I felt off just standing there."

  Cecilia glanced at her—annoyance flickering first, then something unsettled slipping through. "Yes. That's exactly it. You never feel relieved around them."

  Her tone sharpened, anger folding neatly into control. "That organization—hers. They called her the heraldress, but everyone knows she was an executioner too. Closer to the Architect than anyone should be."

  A bitter huff. "They were supposed to be buried years ago. Then suddenly—active again. Shaking hands. Making deals before anyone realizes they've already lost."

  She looked down the corridor Mora had vanished into. "They even worked with my father once. He was a general. No one ever met their Head. Just orders. Outcomes."

  Zoe hesitated. "Head?"

  Cecilia nodded once. "They called him the Arbitrator. Architect of most of the mess that followed."

  Her mouth tightened. "We met him once. Briefly. Or maybe we didn't. With people like that, it's hard to tell."

  A pause. "But that Arbitrator? Things escalated because of her."

  The silence after that felt wrong. Not quiet—emptier.

  Zoe's gaze dropped.

  Something lay near the wall. Small. Old.

  Metal dulled by time.

  A compass keychain.

  Her breath hitched.

  Anaia noticed it too—stepped forward on instinct—but Zoe was faster. Her fingers closed around it before she could think, before she could stop herself.

  The metal was cold.

  Too cold.

  Heavier than memory allowed.

  She knew this compass.

  She had given it to Cassar.

  A year ago.

  Her chest tightened, questions rising too fast, too sharp. How was this here? Why did it look untouched by time? Why did it feel like it had waited... for her?

  Zoe pressed it against her chest, hiding it from sight, letting herself draw a trembling breath.

  The corridor offered no answers.

  And Zoe knew, with deep, bone-deep certainty settling in her chest—

  This wasn't an ending.

  It was a warning.

  ---

  The corridor hadn't warmed.

  If anything, it felt more hollow now.

  Anaia stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You okay, Zoe?"

  Zoe didn't look at her.

  "It seems," she said after a beat. Then, steadier, like a decision settling into place, "I've got something important."

  Anaia blinked. "This suddenly?"

  Zoe was already turning.

  Before she could leave, she paused and looked back at Cecilia.

  "Wait," she said. "Why are you looking for the Scion?"

  Cecilia's expression sharpened instantly. "That shouldn't be your concern."

  Zoe tilted her head, almost amused—not mocking, just observant.

  "You're quite funny," she said lightly. "You only talk like that when things get sentimental."

  A flicker of irritation crossed Cecilia's face. Quick. Controlled. Not hidden well enough.

  Zoe didn't wait for it to grow.

  She turned and walked away.

  Anaia hesitated, glanced once at Cecilia—then smiled, small and polite, like nothing had happened at all.

  "Byee, Di."

  She rushed after Zoe, falling into step beside her without asking another question.

  The corridor watched them go.

  And kept its secrets.

  ---

  Anaia caught up just outside the corridor's edge, where the air felt less watched.

  Zoe glanced sideways. "You?"

  A pause, almost curious. "I thought you'd stay with your sister."

  Anaia shrugged, hands slipping into her pockets. "Didn't I tell you? We don't have that great a bond."

  She looked away first, gaze drifting forward. "Besides, Cecilia doesn't like being watched when she's unsure."

  Zoe's lips twitched. "And?"

  Anaia smiled—not playful. Not warm. Knowing.

  "You don't even realize when people start orbiting you."

  It wasn't an accusation. Just observation. Like stating the weather.

  Zoe studied her for a second. "You want something?"

  Anaia shook her head. "Nope."

  Then, quieter—like she didn't want to turn it into a promise—

  "Just wanted to say... you can call me. No explanations needed."

  She took a step ahead, already starting to leave, as if that was all she came for.

  "Hey," Zoe said.

  Anaia paused, half-turning. "Yeah?"

  "Can you tell me about Cecilia?"

  Anaia exhaled, thinking. "Well... most people know this much. Her dad was a general. Big name."

  A beat.

  "Mine's a businessman. Different side of the board."

  She glanced away—not embarrassed. Just honest.

  "There was a time my dad went bankrupt. We asked for help. They said no."

  Another pause. Smaller this time.

  "Later, my dad managed to pull things back together on his own. After that, things were... neutral. We don't talk much. But we don't reject each other either."

  She lifted one shoulder. "That's it, really."

  Zoe nodded slowly. "I see."

  The compass felt heavier in her pocket.

  Anaia smiled then—not bright, not sad. Just real.

  "Yeah."

  She turned and walked off, leaving Zoe standing there with more context than comfort.

  Some answers didn't close doors.

  They only showed you which ones were never meant to open.

  ---

  The house was alive. Not chaotic—just breathing.

  Noah sprawled on the couch like a king claiming territory, one arm draped over the backrest, laughing at something Nevara had said. Nevara sat cross-legged on the floor, half-focused, half-distracted, flicking something between her fingers.

  Zoe stopped at the doorway. Silence didn't settle—she didn't want it to.

  "It seems," she said, dropping her bag, voice steady and sharp, "I got a new job for both of you."

  "...Job?" Noah echoed, still laughing, confusion creeping in.

  Nevara blinked. "What happened?"

  "Now. Wake up." Zoe stepped inside. Her eyes swept over them. "Useless. Neither of you warned me about what's going on?"

  Nevara frowned. "Zoe, slow down—"

  "I'm not joking," Zoe snapped. "Cecilia has been looking for me. And you didn't even think to warn me?" She ran a hand through her hair, exasperation sharpening every movement.

  Noah straightened, realization flickering across his features. "Inform you about what exactly?"

  "You don't even know," Zoe said flatly, "or maybe you do and just didn't care. Either way—wake up. Nevara, didn't you say Mora was... good?"

  Nevara stiffened. "I said what I believed—"

  "Well," Zoe cut in, voice even but teeth gritted, "that person is knee-deep in schemes."

  Nevara opened her mouth, then closed it, confusion rippling through her.

  Zoe dug into her pocket, fingers curling around something cold and heavy. She pulled it out—metal catching the light.

  A compass keychain.

  Nevara leaned forward, instinctive curiosity. Noah squinted, tension creeping into his posture. "That's... a pretty casual keychain."

  Zoe's head snapped toward him. "Casual? What do you mean casual?"

  Noah held up his hands. "I mean—it's just—"

  "That day," Zoe said, voice climbing, sharp as a blade, "I spent hours choosing it. My own savings. The ones I never touch. I gave it to Cassar."

  Her chest tightened. "And then he... died. But the next day he was there. Like... wrong. Hollow. Not him."

  Noah winced, a flicker of alarm crossing his features. "Okay. Okay, I get it—"

  "No!" Zoe's voice cut through the room. She pressed the keychain in her fist. "This is bigger than us. Mora—or whoever's behind it—is playing a long-term game. Years. Meticulously. And this," she lifted the compass, "is proof."

  Nevara's expression darkened, lips pressed into a thin line. Noah rubbed the back of his neck, humor gone, tension settling.

  "They weave networks, erase mistakes, manipulate outcomes," Zoe continued, voice low now, coiled. "And everyone walks around oblivious until it's too late."

  Noah straightened fully, realization setting in. "So... we're already inside something we don't see. And it's been going on for a while."

  Zoe met his eyes, gaze sharp and unyielding. "We were invited. Without consent."

  The room seemed smaller. The normalcy of laughter and casual movement evaporated, leaving only the weight of reality pressing in.

  Zoe closed her fingers around the compass again. "I don't trust them. Not a single vibe from Mora or Cecilia feels safe. And I refuse to stay ignorant. I want real information—about the Rhetorical Accords, the Arbitrator... everything."

  Noah blinked, tension still coiled in his shoulders. "What?"

  "Come on," Zoe said, voice taut with certainty. "If I'm not wrong, this Arbitrator—they're pulling strings. And it's only getting bigger."

  Noah exhaled slowly. "I'll see what I can do."

  Nevara just nodded. Silent agreement.

  Zoe's gaze dropped to the compass. She pressed it tighter in her palm, thoughts racing.

  The game had started. And Zoe was awake.

  Time to find the threads before they pull me under.

  ---

  The forest pressed in from all sides. Afternoon light filtered weakly through dense branches, casting restless shadows that shivered with the wind. Every rustle sounded louder than it should, every snapped twig sharper.

  Zoe ran alongside Nevara, muscles coiled, senses sharp. Ahead, a small group dashed between trees, panic written into every movement. At the back, someone moved differently.

  Shoji. Calm. Detached. Every step precise, measured, like he was reading the forest as much as the people in it.

  Zoe slowed. "How did this happen?" she asked, voice low.

  One of the group glanced back, eyes wide. "We're getting cornered!"

  Another added, strained, "Move faster! We don't have much time!"

  Zoe's gaze swept the terrain. "There's a cave nearby—people rarely come this side. Follow me."

  Hesitation flickered. Then nods. They veered off the beaten path, slipping into a shadowed alcove strewn with rocks. Zoe stole a glance at Shoji—he didn't answer, just observed, calculating, silent.

  One of the fleeing members muttered, "We can't go further this way. They've prepared for us... our Heraldress got injured. That's why we need to withdraw."

  Zoe stepped forward. "Let me help her. You—go the other side. I'll check on her."

  They hesitated. Zoe turned back. "Do you have any way?"

  Nevara stepped closer, hand extending instinctively. Her fingers brushed the Heraldress's wrist, and suddenly the forest around her blurred and dissolved.

  A golden-brown gaze. Smooth. Calm. Unfathomable.

  It wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind. It was knowing.

  Mora fell—body trembling, eyes wide, heart seeming to vanish. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, twisting into shapes that didn't exist. Pain poured in waves—sharp, raw, immediate—but she was still alive. Still aware. Still trapped in it.

  The golden-eyed figure leaned close, movement almost casual, inspecting her like an art piece. One hand traced through hair, testing, probing for weakness. Another pressed lightly over chest and shoulders, gauging deeper fractures. The body convulsed—not in despair exactly, but in shock. Tears welled, spilling silently. She wasn't trying to cry. Couldn't. This went beyond comprehension, beyond normal pain.

  "So, this is what living hell feels like.

  No—hell implies punishment.

  This is reality. Sharp. Constant.

  Something I can't run from.

  Unapologetic.

  Oh God.

  This is madness.

  Mercy...

  I... I shouldn't be here, right? I..." The thought came as a whisper, almost prayer, almost plea.

  The gaze remained steady, unsettlingly smooth. Golden eyes that saw everything, weighed everything, judged nothing aloud. The forest held its breath. No wind rustled. No birds called. Only that gaze, infinite and cold, pressing on the soul.

  Then—darkness.

  Even as the memory faded, it lingered. The impossibility of being forced to live while knowing the void clung to her bones. The golden gaze hadn't left. It never truly did like you don't understand what you are yet

  Nevara staggered, gripping the nearest tree, breath shallow, uneven.

  "Nevara?" Zoe's voice cut through the haze. "Nevara!"

  No response.

  Zoe leaned closer, scanning the Heraldress—but there was nothing. No heartbeat. No warmth. Only hollow absence.

  Before she could act, Mora's amber gaze locked onto hers. His hand gripped hers firmly, steady, pulling her away.

  "Where am I? Where are they all?" His voice was precise, edged with simmering annoyance. A curse slipped past his lips for the one who struck from behind.

  Zoe froze, stomach hollow. The forest seemed to hold its breath.

  "I guess I asked something from you?" he added, stepping back, tension radiating in every measured movement.

  Nevara blinked through tears. "We... we're trying to help," she said, voice quivering. "Right, Zoe? We're helping."

  Zoe didn't answer. Silence pressed, thick and heavy. Mora disappeared into the shadows, tension lingering like smoke.

  Then a voice cut through, wary but gentle: "Lady Heraldress, you okay?"

  The group had gathered cautiously around the injured. Shoji revealed quietly, "This lady helped us from hiding."

  Mora nodded once, handing over her money without a word. Zoe didn't move, didn't acknowledge it.

  The forest was still. Zoe turned to Nevara, body trembling. "She... she literally felt dead. I thought I was seeing a ghost."

  Nevara stayed close, guiding her gently. "It's okay. I... I know. It's shocking. There's still so much we don't know. But that doesn't mean they didn't have reasons... even if it looks wrong."

  Zoe blinked, gripping the compass in her pocket. "I... I really didn't feel anything. I thought she was dead... then she caught my hand. I... I—"

  Nevara squeezed hers. "I know. I know. It's a lot. But we'll figure it out."

  Afternoon light slipped through the branches, shadows lengthening. The forest exhaled.

  Zoe drew a shaky breath, trying to ground herself. Meeting Anaia would have to wait—but first, she had to process everything she had just witnessed.

  ---

  Zoe broke the silence first.

  "...Nevara."

  Nevara hummed, still watching the treeline, eyes tracing where shadows gathered. "Yeah?"

  Zoe exhaled. "I'm supposed to meet Anaia today."

  That made Nevara glance over. "Supposed to?"

  Zoe's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "I planned to. Before all this."

  She gestured vaguely behind them, toward the forest that still felt wrong—too quiet, too aware.

  "Now it feels like the day already ran ahead without me."

  Nevara nodded once. "Days do that lately," she said. "Like they know more than we do."

  They walked on. Leaves crunched underfoot—steady, grounding. The sound helped. A little.

  Zoe spoke again, quieter. "Back there... when I touched her—"

  She stopped herself, breath catching. "I didn't feel anything. Not fear. Not life. Just... absence."

  Nevara's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

  "You shouldn't carry that alone," she said, gently—but firmly.

  They reached a small clearing where the ground dipped, moss soft beneath their boots. No immediate danger. Just space to breathe.

  Zoe slowed. "Anaia's sharp. Observant. She notices patterns before people notice her noticing."

  A pause. "She's close to Cecilia. And Cecilia once claimed she met the Arbitrator. If that's true... Anaia's the only clean path to her."

  Nevara tilted her head slightly. "So you're meeting her for information."

  "And to see if she's already watching more than she lets on," Zoe replied plainly.

  Nevara smirked. "Bold."

  "Necessary," Zoe said. "We're not here to bond. We're here to stop a disaster before it reaches people."

  Her jaw tightened. "And my doubt's getting stronger that they're already connected to it."

  Silence settled again—but this one felt chosen.

  Nevara spoke softly. "You know she'll ask questions you don't want to answer. You told her you'd meet today."

  Zoe shrugged. "Then I'll give her the truth."

  A beat.

  "Just not all of it."

  Nevara let out a quiet chuckle. "You're learning."

  Zoe stopped walking. "Nevara."

  "Hm?"

  "If I hadn't been there—if it had just been you—would you have told me?"

  Her voice lowered. "About how wrong she felt. How much scarier than before."

  The forest rustled, patient. Waiting.

  "...Eventually," Nevara said at last. "Not to protect them. To protect you."

  She looked away. "I lie. A lot. Not to hurt you—but because there are questions I still don't have answers for."

  Zoe nodded once. "Fair."

  They started walking again, direction loose—not wandering exactly. More like circling a thought.

  Zoe slid her hands into her pockets, fingers brushing the compass.

  "It doesn't feel like things will stay quiet much longer."

  Nevara glanced sideways. "They already aren't."

  Zoe smiled faintly. "Then let's pretend—just for a little while—that we're just two people walking through a forest."

  Nevara returned the smile. "Deal."

  The forest listened.

  And did not disagree.