Ana drew her cloak tighter. The town ahead felt less like sanctuary and more like a snare. Caden's bright presence was a sliver of comfort. He peered up at her. "Think we'll reach the inn by nightfall?"

"With any luck," she replied, voice clipped but not unkind.

"My boots are already blistered," he grinned, shifting the makeshift sword on his back.

"Don't get too comfortable," Ana warned. "Last thing we need is to let our guard down."

"I've got eyes like a hawk," he boasted.

"Or at least a really observant pigeon," she teased. He laughed, and for a moment her tension eased.

A rustle in the underbrush snapped her attention forward. Footsteps and low voices approached. Rounding the bend, another group of Kingsguard appeared, armor clinking as they marched with purpose.

"They're in a hurry," Caden observed.

Ana studied them. "Or we're in theirs."

They halted when they saw her, surprise flickering across their faces. The leader, his chestplate scarred, advanced. "General, your presence here is unexpected."

Ana's jaw tightened. "Mutual." Her glare did the rest. The soldier faltered. "North sends word you have other... priorities. Crimson Syndicate, maybe?"

"Don't mistake diversions for the real fight," Ana snapped, stepping forward. "Work on your tracking if you care about the North."

He forced back a sneer. "We'll handle real threats ourselves. But if you insist on diversions, Sir Ironfoot will hear about it."

"Tell Ironfoot to send more than fledglings next time," Ana replied. Her eyes flared; mana crackled like embers around her. The soldiers staggered back as her crimson aura flared.

"Fall back!" their leader barked, voice cracking. They fled down the path, armor clattering in haste.

"They're gone," Caden said, exhaling. Distant voices drifted on the wind: "She's on her own... for now." "Not like the others."

Ana's glow winked out. She rubbed her temples, exhaustion etched into every movement, then resumed walking without a word.

Caden finally broke the silence. "What was that about?"

"Old acquaintances," Ana said, too casual.

"They didn't seem friendly."

"They're not," she shrugged. "Best not to get cozy with anyone who has more armor than personality."

"They think they know you," Ana muttered. "They want to use that."

"Why do they still call you 'General'?" he asked.

"Old habits die hard," Ana said, eyes fixed on the town.

He frowned. "Because of... that thing you mentioned? And what is North, what is this Crimson Syndi..cy?"

She said nothing, lost in her own wary thoughts. Ahead, a rickety wooden bridge arched over a narrow brook. Below, water whispered over stones, fish darted, insects skimmed the surface. Caden paused to watch.

Ana crossed beside him, gauging how much he could handle. The musty wood smelled of age; the brook smelled clean and cold. Leaves crunched until Ana broke the calm.

"Nosy, aren't you?" she deflected, then softened. "North is dangerous. Crimson Syndicate worse. Beyond that, it's complicated."

"So, nothing new then?" he sighed.

"Smart boy," Ana quipped, but her tone softened. "When there's need-to-know news, you'll be the first." she promised.

Caden kicked a pebble down the road. "Hard to help if I'm always guessing."

Ana slowed. "You help more than you think." She glanced over one shoulder. "Since when did you get so cheeky?"

Caden's lips twitched into a wary half-smile. "Since I started running with you."

She scowled. "It's contagious. But keep it down. We're cutting east." Her hand guided them into brittle grass and bramble. The beaten path dissolved beneath leaves and crackling stems, the road shrinking behind them with each step.

From this angle, the town was just a row of dull roofs, fences bowing to the wind. "There'll be patrols till sunrise," Ana said quietly. "They want eyes on me. And now you, too."

"Is it because of the title?" he asked, matching her pace.

Ana bent to flick a burr off her boot. "They think it means something—makes them braver, or stupid." Her mouth tightened. She scanned the field for movement—shadows, glints, anything human or worse. "Mostly it just paints a target."

They ducked through skeletal trees; Ana's cloak snagged on a twig. She freed it and pressed on, one hand at the hilt of her dagger. The wind smothered sound, but distant footsteps still echoed.

Caden stumbled on a root. "Do you think they'll follow?"

"They always follow. Means we're worth the trouble." She judged the treeline for cover. "If they wanted us dead, they'd try. This is just rattling the cage."

She wished Caden would quiet, but his questions were his way of coping. The sun dipped below the ridge, plunging the field into raw shadow. Night would buy them time—or at least uncertainty.

The grass whipped at Ana's shins, sharp and cold. She picked up the pace, not checking if Caden kept up—pride would drag him along, or break him. At a hollow, they found the ruins of an old outpost: stones charred and moss-covered. Ana circled once, ankles sinking into leaf litter. No fresh tracks.

She motioned him in. They crouched behind fallen timber, cool air biting at exposed skin. She risked a glance at the road: two torches flickered in the distance, steady and searching. Caden crouched beside her, breath whistling low.

"Why run if they're not a threat?" he whispered.

"I don't like being watched," she said. A partial truth. "And it keeps them guessing."

She drew a dull-wrapped loaf from her satchel, tore it in two, and tossed a piece to Caden. He chewed, staring out at the emptying dusk.

"Did you ever want the title?" he asked, bread halfway to his mouth.

Ana rubbed her palm on her cloak. "Didn't want much once."

"What about now?" His tone was casual, but the tremor underneath showed his need for honesty.

She stared at the horizon, uncertain she could voice the truth. "Now I want to see tomorrow. That's enough."

They sat in silence, close but not touching, while the world dimmed around them.

Ana flexed her hand, fighting the urge to pace. "We wait here. If no one comes by midnight, we go north on foot—off the roads, the whole way. You sleep. I'll watch."

Caden nodded, curling up in the grass, arms wrapped around his knees. Ana kept her gaze on the torches, mapping the field with her senses. She knew the Kingsguard would circle back—they always did.

The wind rattled the grass and tore at the crumbling walls of the outpost. Caden slumped into half-sleep; Ana cataloged the ache in her shoulders and the metallic tang where she'd bitten her cheek. The shattered town flickered in her mind—splintered doors, blood-slick cobblestones—then faded. She pressed her back against the ancient stone, stars piercing the sky, and felt her breathing ease for the first time in weeks.

When only Caden's even breath and the insects' hymn remained, Ana traced an invisible perimeter as Kellan once taught her. At her feet, the boy shivered asleep beneath the broken wall. She listened for metal or muted footsteps. A vole scurried. She reminded herself that tomorrow could shift with the wind. She tried recalling the North's velvet valley and the Syndicate's roots, but each time her mind drifts there, it brings with it that splintered memory: Ethan's face appeared in her mind—rain-slicked hair plastered to his forehead, eyes bright as he cupped his hands around hers, sheltering the flint and steel from the downpour. The memory shifted to his final moments, lips forming "Kai" with his last breath. A name she'd spent years running from, yet now she'd give anything to hear him speak it again.

Midnight brought a sharper cold, Caden stirred, nibbled the crust of bread Ana left, and said nothing. Stars faded to gray as they marched north into soaking grass and dead hollows, the old road falling away behind them.

By mid-morning they'd skirted shuttered farms and sagging barns. Caden ached to snatch a sausage or a chicken but kept silent—Ana noticed every open window. They paused under a sparse stand of trees: the town loomed so close he could almost touch its rooftops, and a distant dog bark set his nerves on edge.

Ana uncorked a battered skin. "Ever been inside a place like that?" she asked. He shook his head. "Follow my lead," she said. "The inn's at the north end by the grain house."

They approached the town in orderly, clear lines—no sneaking or blending in.