Page 169 of Of Masks and Fury

“We’ll stop soon,” Trew called out to the others. “We need to find defensible ground and set up camp before it gets dark.”

Ahead, the landscape shifted from swamp to a stretch of rocky terrain dotted with boulders large enough to provide cover.

“There.” Trew pointed. “Between those formations.”

At his foot command, Lakast banked, his wings tilting to catch the air. My stomach dropped with the descent, but I kept my grip firm, my body moving with Trew’s as he shifted his weight to help guide the dragon.

We landed with barely a jar. Kyreth and Wairen touched down moments later, their massive forms settling onto the rocky ground.

I hitched my leg over Lakast’s spine ridges and slid down his side, jarring when I landed on the ground far below. My legs wobbled, protesting the hours of being locked in position. Trew dismounted with our bags, his hand immediately finding the small of my back.

“Set things up,” he said, already scanning the area. “I’ll layer some wards.”

Derren and Lexie were already checking their weapons. Kerralyn pulled out her journal, ready to document whatever we found. Their companions remained alert, watching the wasteland with the kind of focus that made my skin prickle.

Pherin launched from my shoulder, circling overhead. Gavelle joined her, the two of them swirling higher until they became dark specks against the fading light.

I started unloading supplies from the bags, but Trew caught my wrist.

“What do you feel here, Isi?” His golden eyes held mine. “Does the weave feel thin?”

The question wasn’t casual. He was asking for my assessment, trusting my potential veil-sight in a way that made warmth unfurl in my chest. If I could identify areas that were weaker, he could reinforce them.

I closed my eyes and reached for that part of myself that could perceive the structure of magic. The weave pulsed behind my eyelids, a network of power branching through reality like a system of veins. In the wasteland, those veins looked necrotic, the threads turning a sickly, shriveled black where the corruption had taken hold. The threads appeared frayed and thin in places, twisted in others, and some sections were so corrupted they’d turned black and shriveled.

“It’s bad.” I opened my eyes. “The corruption is pressing close. Whatever wards you weave will be fighting against constant erosion.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I’ll make them stronger.”

We worked together in the fading light, Trew tracing patterns in the air while I pointed out the weakest sections of the weave, theplaces where corruption was trying to eat through. He adjusted accordingly, reinforcing those areas with extra layers of protection.

Derren unpacked bedrolls while Lexie assembled a small fire pit from rocks. Kerralyn organized supplies.

Trew handed me a waterskin as he passed. Our fingers touched, and he held the contact a moment, stroking across my knuckles before he released me.

I took a long drink, finding the water cool and clean despite the dissolving world around us. When I lowered the skin, he was watching me with an expression that made heat pool low in my belly.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” But his mouth curved into that small, private smile that sent my blood racing. “Just appreciating the view.”

“Of the wasteland?”

“You.”

Before I could respond, he’d turned back to his wards, but that smile lingered, making my insides simmer.

I passed him a piece of dried meat as he worked, and he caught my eye as he took it, that same smile playing at his lips. These small, intimate moments felt precious alongside the decay.

The fire caught, small and stubborn. Lexie fed it carefully, coaxing it with the kind of patience she usually reserved for ancient tomes. Its light pushed back the shadows by maybe ten feet in every direction. Beyond that, the wasteland swallowed everything.

I sat back on my heels and listened, hearing nothing.

This was an emptied nothing, scraped clean of every living sound until only absence remained. No insects sang. No night birds called. The wind didn’t even bother moving through the spindly trees. The silence pressed against my ears like something physical, like it was trying to get in.

Pherin,I asked.What do you hear?

Nothing.But her tone wasn’t reassuring. It was uneasy.Wrong nothing. Loud nothing.