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She looked away, hating the pity rising inside her. She hated how much she understood.

“No,” she murmured. “I have.”

His voice softened. “Then you know.”

Lysander worked a vial of oil into the joints, then fastened the sleeve again with practised ease. The silence between them festered.

Idonea turned away and knelt by the fire. She repeated the same ritual as the night before, hoping they’d remained on the right course. Blood trickled from her nose afterwards but their direction remained unchanged. She caught his gaze across the fire and looked away.

Rain came that night. Fine at first, only a whisper against the tented canvas Lysander had rigged between two trees, then heavier, blurring the world into sound. Idonea lay awake, listening to it. The air smelled of wet oak and ash.

Lysander’s coat draped over his knees, eyes half-shuttered, but never quite closed. Even at rest, he was ready to move.

By morning, the rain had passed. Haze drifted low between the trunks. Water pooled in the ruts of the road, reflecting a sky the colour of dull steel.

They rode in silence for hours, neither keen to break it. Every so often, Lysander scanned the tree line, his gaze sharp.

Heat shimmered above the roots on their left despite the cold. Idonea's skin prickled. The trees looked burned from the inside out.

She drew her horse to a halt. “Here,” she said.

Lysander dismounted, crouching near the roots. “This is what the Order has been noticing more.”

“Nexis activity,” she agreed.

He glanced up. “Entities slipping through that shouldn’t be.”

They pressed on. Lysander started marking their direction, adjusting their pace, always angling northwest. He didn’t explain why, and Idonea didn’t ask.

By the fourth day, she'd the rhythm of the mare’s gait. The ride no longer jarred every bone in her body. They crested a low mountain range where the forests thinned, oaks and beeches gave way to skeletal spruce and fir.

The sun hung lower over the horizon. Cold wind bit into her exposed arms and legs, and lichen grew at the bases of trees and the earth dampened. Flecks of snow dotted the horizon ahead. The path was taking them into Zorya whether or not she willed it. The terrain slowed them down.

Lysander raised a hand. “Halt.”

She reined in the mare as he scanned the sky.

“Into the trees. Now.” His voice sharp.

Idonea frowned. The trees were bare, with little cover to be had.

“What is it?”

He grabbed her reins, his mechanical grip like iron, and led her beneath the gnarled branches.

Lysander pointed towards the sky. “Pirates.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She shielded her eyes — she’d recognise that ship anywhere; it was the Clockwork Crows.

Lysander helped her dismount. The hum of its engines vibrated in her bones, and Current stirred inside her. Cold metal snapped around her wrists. The Current recoiled instantly. Idonea jerked hard enough to rattle the chain. Not again. She scowled at Lysander.

“Not smart,” he said. “You want to bring pirates down on us? They’ve launched a scout.”

Idonea shot a look at Lance, urging him with her eyes to ensure he remained hidden.

“I’m cutting a horse loose,” Lysander whispered. He removed the bags, slapped the mare’s flank, and sent her galloping back down the mountain. I had started to like that mare.

The whir of propellers grew louder as dust flared around them. Lysander yanked her down beside him, his hand clamping over her mouth. She tensed.