Elira’s ankle had started to throb—sharp, relentless pain. From the market until now, she hadn’t rested once. She’d lost count of how many times she had run today.

Even as her legs begged to stop, she forced her body forward, cutting through forest soil still damp from a passing drizzle. The red ribbons she’d seen before greeted her again.

This time she stepped past them without hesitation, not caring when the wind lifted an end and brushed it against her arm. She knew the ribbons were a warning to turn back. But she had decided—she wouldn’t stand still while something was going wrong in her village.

She moved slower, slipping from tree to tree. Reckless, maybe, but she needed caution. There could be a watchman. Someone could see her.

Far beyond the border, she spotted a group of children gathering firewood. One of them was the same child she had seen before.

The others looked no better—thin, dirty, miserable. Elira’s heart shook; she wanted to shout. Sense kept her quiet.

She followed them, hiding behind thick trunks. Thankfully, none of the children noticed her.

She stopped at the forest’s edge and watched them wade a shallow stream with the wood strapped to their backs.

Would she see Kamura after this stream? The water was low and full of stones, its current gentle, and still the children struggled to cross.

She let them go on ahead—far enough that even their shadows disappeared—then she moved again.

She drew a deep breath, lifted her skirt, and crossed carefully. She had come this far; she wasn’t going back empty-handed.

Past that point, she didn’t have to fight through heavy forest anymore. A few more trees—and houses began to appear in the distance.

No guards stood at the row of stacked timbers that surely marked Kamura’s line. A large stone sat near the wooden barricade. Elira narrowed her eyes. A bird had been carved into the rock. The bird’s wings curved like cut hills; its three tails unraveled into spice-red threads, and its beak pointed north. Elira had never seen a bird like that.

Seeing no one nearby, she crept to the stone and touched the bird. A symbol? When she peeked inside, she could see the same bird etched on the front of every building.

She craned her neck, trying to take in more of the buildings beyond the gate.

Sad. That was the first word that crossed her mind. Some structures were made of straw; never mind a cyclone—one hard rain could knock these down.

She gripped the edge of the wooden gate and slipped in, hopping from one building’s shadow to the next. Oddly, her scouting wasn’t hard at all—the village was so quiet.

From behind a wooden house, she saw a group of teenagers plowing a field. Not far away, the children she’d followed stacked their firewood at a small hut. They didn’t stop to rest; they moved straight to watering the plants beside the shed.

Fertile, they said? Aside from the paddies and the few cultivated plots, all of Kamura’s ground looked barren, neglected.

She even saw the elderly weaving cloth and sharpening iron. Some coughed and seemed ready to collapse, yet no one spared them more than a glance, as if this was normal.

She wanted to go deeper, but a group of adults started down her path. She hadn’t even found Raka. Maybe he was at the square? Meeting the village head—whoever that was.

“Lord Kalix wants that finished at once.”

She caught the line faintly, then had to flee before anyone saw her.

She slipped from house to house and, once past the stone at the wooden gate, broke into a run.

She didn’t care when her skirt soaked through at the stream or when she nearly fell tripping over a rock. Her mind was chaos; her heart hurt every time the images flashed back.

Had Ashira been living by squeezing another village all along? The stories she’d been told—were they all lies?

Her vision blurred. Tears pushed hard no matter how fiercely she held them back. Worse, her ankle throbbed again, and she couldn’t bear the pain.

She pitched forward, her face hitting the ground. But it wasn’t her ankle that hurt most—something far deadlier tore through the center of her chest.

She lifted her head, wiped her tears with hands smeared with damp earth, and tried to stand. If she had to cry, she’d rather do it in her room than in this terrible forest.

But when she tried to rise, her knees shook so badly she couldn’t hold her weight. She fell backward.

Her eyes flew wide as a flash streaked past—half a heartbeat after she dropped.

Her body trembled. An arrow had bitten into the ground beside her leg. An inch nearer and it would have taken her—she would have died here.

Run, she told herself—but her legs refused. Nausea climbed her throat.

“Elira!”

The familiar voice—she didn’t know whether to be angry or more broken. She had never felt this undone.

“Elira!”

She didn’t know what had happened—only that Raka burst out of nowhere. He lunged for her; her back hit the hard ground, and his hand shielded her head as a second arrow struck beside her ear.

“Elira! We have to go!”

He hauled her up, dragged her into a run, and only stopped behind a huge tree.

“Elira! Look at me!” his voice was low and firm. “Hey. Why are you—Arkh!” He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated. “What matters is we leave. Now.”

He caught her hand again, but she slapped his grip away. The anger, the frustration, everything she’d been holding down, broke free.

“I saw everything! It’s all lies! Kamura, Ashira—everything is a lie!”

Raka’s stare sharpened. She knew this wasn’t the time to argue. She still wanted answers—now.

“You,” her voice shook, “are you part of this lie too?”

“Save your questions.” He took her hand again. “Didn’t you see? Those arrows can kill at any moment. Come with me. We’ll hide until it’s safe.”

Elira grimaced as her ankle screamed and Raka kept her moving, no matter how she fought him.

“El—”

“Where are you taking me?!” A tear slipped without asking permission—pain and fury in one line. “This isn’t the way home.”

The hand he’d lifted toward her face hung in the air. Her expression hardened, though her eyes were wet.

He cupped her wrist gently. “We have to hide,” he said. “There’s a cave near here—my hideout. When it’s calmer, we’ll go home. I promise I’ll get you back before the Festival starts.”

Elira snorted. She didn’t care about the Festival anymore.

“Elira,” he murmured, squeezing her hand, “if those arrows hit you, I’ll never forgive myself. Please—trust me.”

Always the same. He asked for trust, and she learned the truth from anyone but him. What did trust mean to Raka?

She was far from satisfied, but she knew disobeying him would get them both killed. She didn’t even know where the arrows had come from.

So she let him take her hand again and walked, even as pain burned through her ankle. She tried to swallow her whimpers. They went far—farther than she knew paths existed in this forest.

They stopped before two massive stones at the forest’s edge. Raka turned to her.

“Let me carry you.”

“Huh?”

He nodded at her ankle. “It hurts, right? I’m sorry—I should’ve asked earlier. But I know you never want to trouble me.”

“I’m fine. Why stop here?”

Raka pointed at a narrow gap between the stones. “The cave I mentioned is past this. The path’s tricky—especially with your ankle.”

She limped to the slit between the rocks and stepped back when she looked through.

He was right. The way down was steep, and the damp earth made it worse.

“Climb on,” Raka said, turning his back to her.

She hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder, and she couldn’t refuse.

Whatever the truth was, she had spent more time with Raka than with anyone. Bitter as it felt, something in her still urged trust.

She hopped lightly onto his back and let him adjust his hold.

Raka stepped carefully through the gap, and they began to descend the rough path.

Elira’s eyes widened when her forearm brushed his neck. How was he walking so steady—carrying her—when his skin burned like boiling water?

Her eyelids stung again. Why couldn’t anything go right today?