Lucanis smothered the last embers of the fire with a handful of black sand. A long sigh slipped from his lips, as if he were extinguishing something other than ash.

  Althéa, meanwhile, picked up her fur sling, then slipped her bow and quiver over her shoulders in a smooth, precise motion. She didn’t say a word, but the tightness of her jaw betrayed her mood.

  Both of them joined Kael, who was waiting at the edge of the rock outcrop.

  He was whistling.

  Relaxed.

  Almost cheerful.

  Hands clasped behind his back. One foot braced against the rock, tapping out an uneven rhythm. His black cloak rippled softly in the morning wind.

  Lucanis shot him a brief glare.

  Althéa said nothing, but her sigh spoke volumes.

  Kael’s whistling cut off abruptly when he saw them approaching. A broad smile spread across his face.

  "Ah, there you are! So—ready for a little stroll?"

  Lucanis looked away.

  Althéa stared at the ground, lips pressed tight.

  The silence that followed was heavy. Not the silence of calm—but the silence of contained tension, of disagreement kept warm under the tongue.

  And Kael?

  Still smiling.

  Still light on his feet.

  As if nothing were hunting them in the shadows.

  They walked single file along the cliff, skirting the edge of the void.

  The wind had picked up, sweeping the heights with dry, whistling gusts.

  Kael led the way.

  He whistled a strange tune, punctuated by little comments he tossed out without caring whether anyone was listening:

  "Nice rock spire, don’t you think? Looks like a badly carved tooth…"

  "Funny how this wind feels good after such an ‘eventful’ night, huh?"

  "You think views like this inspire poets?"

  No answer.

  Behind him, Lucanis and Althéa walked in silence, tense. Their steps struck the rock more sharply. Their gazes no longer met Kael’s.

  And the more he played at carelessness, the tighter their jaws clenched.

  They went on like that for a good hour, winding along the cliff face in search of a passage.

  Kael kept whistling.

  Always the same tune.

  Always that smile on his lips.

  Then suddenly, Lucanis snapped.

  He stopped dead. His voice cracked through the canyon like a thunderclap.

  "Are you going to cut this fucking act already?!"

  Kael stopped as well, turning slowly.

  Still smiling.

  Lucanis stepped forward, furious.

  "Althéa and I barely slept all night!

  While you were sleeping like a kid on a midday nap, we were standing watch, scared out of our minds!"

  "And now you’re strolling around like we’re heading out for a picnic?!"

  A crushing silence followed.

  Kael looked at Lucanis… then shrugged.

  "I told you we wouldn’t be attacked tonight."

  He paused, almost amused.

  "Not my fault you didn’t listen."

  Lucanis had had enough.

  He closed the last distance between himself and Kael, grabbed him violently by the collar, and lifted him halfway off the ground.

  His eyes were filled with rage.

  Not the rage of a weary traveling companion.

  The rage of a predator ready to strike.

  His gaze was vicious. Cruel.

  And for a second, Kael felt it.

  Felt that he wasn’t bluffing.

  That he truly wanted to do it.

  But Kael was still smiling.

  A calm smile.

  Almost mocking.

  "Easy, Lucanis… you’re going to make me think you don’t like me," he said lightly.

  Lucanis tightened his grip.

  His knuckles went white.

  Kael stifled a laugh.

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  "Come on, take a breath… your veins are about to pop."

  Lucanis froze for a second.

  Then he released him in a sharp motion, shoving him aside with a short shoulder check, like he was trying to wipe something filthy off himself.

  He stepped back, clenched his teeth, and moved back into the lead without a word.

  Althéa, who had seen everything, followed him immediately, not sparing Kael a single glance.

  They turned their backs on him.

  And Kael, left alone for a brief moment on the path, reshaped his smile.

  Colder.

  More predatory.

  He murmured silently to himself, staring at the rock face to his right:

  Perfect.

  Kael started walking again at a brisk pace, as if nothing had happened.

  He quickly caught up to Althéa and Lucanis, still in the lead, and this time he didn’t just whistle.

  He hummed.

  Loud.

  Too loud.

  He improvised.

  Each line more ridiculous than the last.

  Lucanis clenched his fists.

  So hard his knuckles turned white.

  His muscles twitched under the strain.

  He was on the edge.

  Althéa, for her part, said nothing.

  But her tired, cold gaze burned into Kael’s back.

  She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

  Then, halfway up a narrow ledge, Kael took a small misstep.

  He tangled his feet and bumped into Althéa just as she was raising her canteen to her lips.

  She stumbled a step, the canteen slipped from her hands, struck a rock, and spilled out onto the dusty ground.

  Lucanis exploded.

  "FUCK, KAEL!

  Are you going to stop or not?! What do you even want?!"

  His eyes were ringed, red with exhaustion. He was shaking with frayed nerves, at the breaking point.

  Kael raised his hands in a show of innocence, as if it had all been an accident.

  "Oops… sorry. Really."

  Althéa said nothing.

  She bent down and picked up her empty canteen.

  Her face was frozen, impassive.

  But the tension in her jaw, and the sharp look she threw Kael’s way, said everything.

  Still, she wouldn’t give in.

  Not yet.

  She refused to give him what he was looking for.

  The hours passed, slow and silent.

  The canyon gradually opened up before them.

  Kael had eventually spotted a viable route: a natural slope descending toward the heart of the gorge, wedged between two collapsed ridges.

  The group took it, one after another.

  Two canteens instead of three.

  Supplies dwindling.

  Fatigue settling into their bodies.

  And Kael… continued his act.

  They were now crossing a shaded, stifling stretch, where light forced its way through only in rare, pale shafts.

  Kael noticed a scrawny tree, twisted by the wind, half-dead.

  Without warning, he walked over, sat down at its base, crossed his arms behind his head, and sprawled out as if he were on vacation.

  "Alright, little nap. Just ten minutes," he murmured with a pleased sigh. "You’ve got to know how to enjoy things…"

  Lucanis stopped dead.

  He turned around. Slowly.

  Stepped forward, heavy-footed.

  Then grabbed Kael by the collar once again and hauled him brutally to his feet.

  "HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!

  You think we’re out on a hike?!

  You think we can just rest peacefully while a Class-S Overdrawn is tracking us?!"

  Kael raised one hand, a lazy smile on his face.

  "Hey, easy. I’m tired. I need to decompress. You’ve got to live in the moment, big guy."

  At that exact moment, a faint rockslide echoed nearby.

  Small stones rattled down not far from them.

  Lucanis snapped.

  His fist flew without thought.

  A clean, precise, furious blow.

  Kael took it square in the jaw and hit the ground, his lip split open.

  He stayed there for a second, hand pressed to his mouth, blood seeping between his fingers.

  Then he looked up—and smiled.

  A twisted smile. Amused. Insolent.

  "Okay, okay… I get it.

  No nap, then."

  He pushed himself up slowly, wiped his lip with the back of his hand, then muttered,

  "You guys really aren’t any fun."

  The sky was turning orange and mauve.

  Dusk was settling gently over the canyon heights, stretching the shadows between the rock walls.

  They had found a natural intersection: a stone crossroads, with three possible escape routes.

  Perfect for fleeing if needed.

  Perfect too… for being trapped.

  They set up a rough camp.

  A small fire, lit quickly.

  Not too big. Just enough to keep the shadows at bay.

  Althéa, exhausted, had still managed to bring down a lone bird.

  Her bow had trembled, but her arrow had struck true.

  Sitting on a rock, she plucked it by hand, movements automatic, eyes heavy with fatigue.

  Kael, for his part, had drained his entire canteen.

  Not a word for the others. Not a share.

  "Mmh… nothing like a bit of fresh water," he said, smiling.

  "Better than wine. I swear."

  Lucanis clenched his jaw.

  Kael stood up—

  —and stumbled.

  Again.

  He bumped into Althéa, who let the bird slip from her hands.

  It fell straight into the flames, not yet fully plucked.

  A sharp smell of burning feathers filled the air.

  The meat would be inedible.

  Lucanis exploded.

  "ARE YOU DOING THIS ON PURPOSE?!"

  His voice was hoarse.

  Twisted by hatred.

  His face contorted, red with anger, veins throbbing.

  His eyes were nothing but two blades of fury.

  But it was Althéa who moved.

  She sprang to her feet.

  Silent.

  And struck Kael with her bare hands.

  A blow to the shoulder.

  Another to the ribs.

  A third to the cheek—sharp, precise, vicious.

  "You think this is a game?!

  You think we’re here to laugh?!"

  She kept going.

  Each strike fell like a sentence.

  Kael tried to step back, arms raised, that same half-smile still on his lips—

  —but his eyes, this time, were fixed on something else.

  He wasn’t looking at Althéa.

  He was looking into the darkness behind her.

  Where no one else was looking.

  Just above the intersection…

  A silhouette.

  Thin. Motionless.

  Almost melted into the rock.

  He couldn’t see its face.

  But he knew.

  He felt it.

  A new pattern.

  Another mask.

  But the same presence.

  Then—

  Althéa’s fist slammed into him, hard.

  A blow to the stomach.

  One to the ribs.

  One to the jaw.

  Kael didn’t even try to defend himself.

  He was coughing, mouth full of blood, lip split, ribs probably cracked.

  But he kept smiling.

  A painful, twisted smile—yet resolute.

  Althéa didn’t stop.

  "YOU’RE RUINING EVERYTHING!

  YOU’RE GOING TO GET US KILLED, DAMN IT!"

  Her arms were shaking, but the blows kept coming.

  She was letting out all the pressure of the day, of the week, of the Trial itself.

  Lucanis stepped in.

  He grabbed her around the waist and yanked her backward, hard.

  "Althéa, stop! STOP! You’re going to kill him!"

  She was still screaming, consumed by rage, eyes wide, fists clenched.

  She fought like a fury, thrashing to break free of Lucanis’s grip.

  "LET GO OF ME! I’M GOING TO DESTROY THAT BASTARD! LET GO OF ME!"

  "No!" Lucanis shouted, breathless. "You’re going to kill him, Althéa! You’re losing it!"

  Kael, half-conscious, curled on the ground, weakly turned his head toward the silhouette above.

  His swollen eye blinked once.

  He murmured, barely audible,

  "You’re here, aren’t you… enjoy the view."

  And he smiled again.

  A smile split with blood.

  Kael lay a few meters away from them, face smeared with blood, every breath stabbing through a bruised rib.

  "Honestly, Althéa…

  you hit like a little girl."

  His voice was rough, damaged, barely more than a breath.

  "You’ll have to do better than that if you want to put me down."

  He coughed, and a bit of blood spattered onto the dust.

  Althéa clenched her fists.

  She was shaking with rage, teeth clenched so hard they might have ground together.

  Lucanis placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

  "We need to stay away from him," he said.

  "We need to… we need to think. We need to stay lucid."

  He shot Kael a sideways glance.

  A long one.

  "You know what?"

  "I don’t think that’s him anymore."

  "The real Kael… he might already be dead."

  Althéa turned her head, eyes still red with fury.

  "And what we have here," she whispered,

  "is the Overdrawn."

  They shared a long silence.

  Heavy. Suffocating.

  Even the fire seemed to quiet down.

  "That would explain everything," Lucanis added.

  "Why he’s playing with us. Why he’s tearing everything apart."

  "That’s exactly what it wants, isn’t it?"

  "Yeah," Althéa said.

  "More than likely."

  She spoke softly, as if to keep Kael from hearing.

  But he said nothing anymore.

  He was sitting alone, off to the side, back slightly hunched, cloak draped over his shoulders, eyes lifted toward the ridge.

  Then, slowly, he turned back,

  and murmured to himself,

  a breath barely perceptible:

  "It’s almost time…"