The night had been black, muffled, endless.

  Neither Althéa nor Lucanis had closed an eye.

  They had remained there, seated side by side, features drawn, muscles knotted with fatigue, hands clenched around the hilts of their weapons.

  The fire had not been relit.

  Paranoia alone was enough to keep them awake.

  A few meters away, Kael was sleeping.

  Slumped against a stone, face bruised, a thin line of dried blood along his chin, his cloak pulled up to his neck.

  Peaceful.

  As if he weren’t the heart of the problem.

  As if he didn’t carry within him the doubt that was gnawing at them.

  Althéa was staring at him.

  Her shadowed eyes had settled on him a thousand times during the night.

  Each time, the urge to strangle him with her bare hands rose stronger.

  And that morning, she snapped.

  She stood up slowly.

  Stepped forward.

  And drove a sharp kick into his gut.

  Kael doubled over with a groan, ripped from sleep by the pain.

  "Ouch… hell. Morning to you too, princess…"

  A trace of humor, as always.

  Rough voice, split smile.

  Lucanis exploded.

  "GET UP. NOW."

  The tone cracked like a whip.

  Kael obeyed, grumbling, hands pressed to his ribs.

  He grimaced as he straightened, spat a bit of blood onto the ground, and muttered:

  "You’re in a lovely mood this morning, really… I adore this little wake-up ritual."

  Kael leaned slightly forward, stretched as if coming out of a pleasant dream, then set his eyes on Althéa.

  "Say… you wouldn’t happen to have a bit of water left?"

  "Just enough to rinse my wounds. I’m suffering, you know…"

  He smiled. A grin warped by the bruise cutting across his cheek.

  Althéa looked at him the way one looks at a piece of walking refuse.

  Lucanis clenched his fist, veins throbbing at his temples.

  One more second, and he would have struck him again.

  But Kael met their gazes without flinching, that same smile plastered on his face, somewhere between arrogance and provocation.

  Althéa and Lucanis gathered their things without a word.

  They left the camp at a brisk pace, without a glance back.

  Kael followed them in silence.

  Then started whistling again.

  A light tune, almost cheerful, as if he were heading out for a picnic.

  “I’m thirsty,” he called out after a few minutes. “And hungry too.

  You are as well, right?”

  No answer.

  Althéa clenched her teeth. Her right eye twitched, almost imperceptibly.

  But she said nothing.

  Neither did Lucanis.

  They walked for hours, the sun beating down on their shoulders, the silence growing heavier and heavier, broken only by their footsteps and Kael’s unbearable whistling.

  Then, finally, they found a spring.

  A thin stream of clear water wound its way between the stones, trapped in a narrow fissure in the rock.

  The sound of the water alone was enough to revive them — Althéa and Lucanis quickened their pace, eyes shining with relief.

  Kael, on the other hand, stayed behind.

  Arms crossed.

  That crooked smile still there.

  When his two companions bent down to drink, he said calmly:

  “You’re sure the Overdrawn didn’t poison the spring?”

  Lucanis froze.

  So did Althéa.

  Their hands hovered just centimeters above the water.

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  They turned toward Kael.

  “And now you care about the Class-S?” Lucanis spat, venom thick in his voice.

  Kael shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

  “Me? I’m not drinking it. Don’t know why. Just a feeling.”

  “But if you trust it…”

  He let the sentence trail off, like an invisible trap snapping shut.

  Lucanis and Althéa exchanged a look.

  The doubt had been planted.

  Once again.

  Strangely enough, they listened to Kael.

  Not because they trusted him.

  Because paranoia had taken over.

  Because the idea of a trap was now lodged in their minds like a poisoned splinter.

  They backed away reluctantly.

  Their throats burned, their lips were cracked, but they turned their backs on the spring and resumed walking, their steps heavier, their morale sinking even further.

  Kael lingered a few seconds longer near the water, thoughtful.

  Then he followed them, a smile on his lips.

  The landscape offered nothing new:

  Dust. Rock. Dry winds.

  And the erosion of their endurance.

  They had only three days left before the Trial activated.

  Three days to survive.

  Three days to doubt.

  Althéa and Lucanis were exhausted — mentally, physically, nervously.

  They moved forward mechanically, like two worn-out puppets.

  And Kael… whistled.

  Always.

  Always that insolent lightness.

  He pulled out his canteen and drank greedily, head tilted back toward the sky.

  The sound of water echoed through the silence like a slap.

  Althéa and Lucanis stopped dead.

  They turned slowly.

  “Wait… Kael…

  You have water?”

  Lucanis’s voice wavered, caught between desperation and anger.

  His lips were split, almost white.

  Althéa’s eyes were wide, fixed on Kael as if he had gone mad.

  Kael lowered his canteen, sighed in satisfaction, wiped his mouth casually.

  “Oh, yeah.

  I took some from the spring after all.

  I just wanted to see if it was poisoned before offering you any.”

  He raised the canteen and tipped it upside down.

  A single drop. Then nothing.

  “Oops…

  Didn’t mean to.

  Sorry.”

  His smile widened — mocking, almost childlike.

  But nothing about it was innocent.

  Lucanis couldn’t take it anymore.

  The blade hissed out of its sheath with a sharp snap.

  His gaze, wild with rage, locked onto Kael’s.

  “Enough!”

  Althéa followed instantly.

  She drew her bow, pulled the string taut, an arrow already nocked.

  Her hands were shaking, but her eyes were steady, burning.

  “It’s not Kael anymore,” she murmured in a low voice.

  “It’s not him.

  It’s the Overdrawn.

  An enemy.”

  Her bloodshot eyes trembled with contained fury.

  Lucanis took a step forward, ready to strike.

  Kael raised both hands, palms open, looking perfectly innocent.

  A smile brushed his lips.

  “Perfect.

  Keep going like that.”

  His voice was low, laced with an unsettling mystery.

  Lucanis roared and lunged at him, sword raised, ready to pour two days of frustration, fear, and hatred into a single blow.

  Kael didn’t move.

  He looked at him calmly, eyes clear, almost devoid of emotion.

  “Perfect, Lucanis.

  Kill me.

  Go on.

  It’ll do the Overdrawn a favor.

  That’s what it wants, right?”

  Lucanis froze, as if struck by sudden awareness.

  His ragged breathing echoed through the canyon.

  His hands trembled on the hilt of his sword.

  Althéa screamed, her voice breaking:

  “Stop, Kael! Shut up!”

  She dropped her bow and fell to her knees, eyes shining with rage and exhaustion.

  Her fingers dug into the dust.

  Her breath shattered.

  Lucanis, lost, grabbed his head with both hands, as if the world were spinning too fast around him.

  And Kael…

  Kael remained standing, alone.

  Still wearing that careless, insolent smile — almost cruel.

  “Well… anyway, that Overdrawn won’t be able to kill me.

  It’s too weak.

  Might as well let you handle it, right?”

  Lucanis looked up, confused.

  Kael went on, his voice rising slightly, mocking, sharp.

  “It’s here. Somewhere.

  I can feel it.

  Waiting.

  Always waiting for someone to make a mistake.

  Always hiding. Laying pathetic little traps…”

  A real coward.

  He took a step forward, arms spread wide, his voice echoing through the throat of the canyon.

  “Come on!

  Get out of your hole!

  Come claim your trophy!”

  His laughter split the air — dry, nervous, almost mad.

  Althéa lifted her head, horrified.

  Lucanis remained frozen.

  And somewhere in the rock…

  Something moved.

  A motion, up there.

  Almost imperceptible.

  Lucanis slowly turned his head.

  Althéa, still on her knees, looked up… and went pale.

  On the cliffside, a silhouette slowly emerged, peeling away from the rock like a malevolent shadow.

  It was her.

  Still that young woman with deathly pale skin and long, jet-black hair.

  But her smile…

  It was no longer human.

  It was twisted — a rictus of pure arrogance, an expression carved by the certainty of victory.

  She looked down at them the way one looks at broken toys.

  Kael was alone.

  His companions had rejected him. Hated him.

  They no longer understood anything.

  He was isolated.

  Exactly what the Overdrawn wanted.

  She descended slowly, almost dancing, savoring the moment.

  Then, suddenly—

  She leapt.

  A shrill scream tore through the air as she hurled herself into the void, dagger raised, straight at Kael.

  But it wasn’t a weapon.

  The blade…

  was her hand.

  A perfect, fluid mutation.

  Her palm had elongated, her fingers fused together, forming a black, gleaming dagger — alive.

  Althéa’s eyes flew wide open.

  — Wh… what is that…?

  Lucanis, still frozen in shock, didn’t understand.

  Everything was happening too fast.

  But Kael didn’t move.

  He watched her fall the way one watches the rain.

  Then he clapped his hands.

  — Ah, finally!

  About time!

  His tone was bright.

  Joyful.

  Almost childlike.

  — I was starting to think you didn’t have the balls to come in person.

  The smile that split his face held nothing innocent.

  It was honed.

  Sharp.

  Like something ready for slaughter.