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“You won’t complain if it keeps your arm,” Orzen muttered, voice rough with a fear he refused to acknowledge.

Calen fetched the flask, hand shaking around the bottle. He set it down beside Orzen with aggravating slowness. Orzen switched places with Jessa, pressing down hard where she’d been. She stumbled back, adrenaline fading, then staggered toward the stream. Calen followed, both crouching to scrub blood from their hands, movements stilted against the chaos behind them.

Branwynn tried to cover Tommick’s eyes, but the boy ducked under her arm, jaw set even as he shook.

“Knights aren’t afraid of blood,” he whispered.

Orzen knelt beside Garin. “I have to get it out,” he said, fingers searching for a grip on the thorn’s jagged base. “I’ll pull on three.”

“Don’t bother counting,” Garin rasped. “Hurts worse if—”

Orzen yanked. The thorn tore free in a spray of blood.

Garin’s snarl punched the air, and Tommick flinched.

Uncorking the flask, Orzen poured the liquor straight into the wound. Garin bucked like he’d been branded; teeth clenched so hard a crack echoed through the clearing. With a callused finger, Orzen shoved clean cloth into the hole, packing the wound while Garin writhed beneath his grip until the blood stopped flowing.

“Stay with me,” Orzen muttered, voice low and firm. “This is how you keep breathing.” He wrapped the bandage hard, tied it off, and finally released the breath clasped in his chest.

“Didn’t hurt,” Garin panted. Sweat pooled beneath his eye wrap, ruddy strands of hair clinging to his brow.

“Good,” Orzen said, wiping the blood from his hands on the grass. “Because it’s going to not hurt a lot until she wakes up.”

With the first crisis averted, Orzen turned back to Wren, counting every rise and fall of her chest. Tommick sat at her head, one hand gripping a horn like his tiny fingers alone could tether her to the world.

Garin tried to shift and winced hard. “Did Silas let anything slip about why he wanted Wren?”

Orzen tore his gaze from her slow breaths. “Yeah. He slipped plenty, like he wanted me to know the truth.”

Their eyes were expectant, so he told them. The bark he’d seen under Silas’s flesh. Frinna’s warning before the festival. The sound of Silas’s beads—a confirmation of her story. The way he’d bowed to the fungus beneath the trees as if it were an altar.

Color drained from Jessa’s face. “But he looked so—“

“Normal…” Orzen’s jaw flexed. “I know. He can change shape; appear like anyone, apparently.”

Garin cursed under his breath. “Silas led the Witherborn into Thistlehold.” A low growl caught in his throat. “He got Tavrin killed. And we still don’t know why he wants Wren.”

“He talked to someone who wasn’t there,” Orzen said. “Tonight. In the woods. Tommick’s noticed him doing it too. Father. Orders of some kind. I don’t know…” He looked to Jessa.

“The Rotfather…” Her voice cracked. Her eyes were wide.

Orzen’s stomach dropped. She’d told the tale only days ago. He’d hoped he’d misremembered, but the look on her face—the stark fear she never let slip—told him he’d been right.

“The Witherborn worship him. Wren said she’d dreamed of the Binding Bough. If her dreams were true…” She shook her head. “Silas might be trying to get her to break the seal.”

The words rattled in Orzen’s skull. The war between the gods. The Warden’s sacrifice. Rot straining against its chains. Velhya’s warning in the letter. The Cycle was bending under a weight none of them understood. Silas tugged Wren toward corruption. No one knew what Velhya wanted. Good or evil, their plans centered on her, and he doubted either of them cared what Wren wanted.

“What do we do?” Branwynn asked quietly, her eyes catching on Wren’s still form.

“We keep her safe,” Orzen said.

Jessa nodded. Fear clung to her features, but a hard line of defiance cut beneath it. She rose and dug through Wren’s pack until she found the creased map. Unfolding it, she pressed a finger to a small circle marked toward the east.

“Wren needs to wake before anything else decides to try and eat us. We head for Stillglen.” She dragged her finger in a line from where they were toward the circle of trees. “A little out of the way, but it says it’s safe. Wren trusts Leora. So, we get her there, and we keep her breathing until she’s back.”

It was risky. Wren couldn’t move on her own. They didn’t have a guide anymore. Small price for Silas leaving, but tracking wasn’t one of his skills. If they couldn’t get her there safely, it would be better to hole up in a defensible position. He was about to say so when Calen cleared his throat.

“I can lead us,” he said, voice low but steady.