They didn't move camp that night.
Not because they couldn't, but because something about that woman's appearance had cast a heavy, invisible net over the entire unit. Even Celeste, usually relentless in pursuit or regrouping, had ordered a defensive perimeter instead of a march.
They fortified the ruins, set multiple overlapping watches, and kept all awakened on alert. But even with the outer sentries posted and fires burning low, an unease pulsed through the clearing like the echo of an unanswered question.
Julian sat on a chunk of cracked stone near the edge of camp, the ruins rising around him like the bones of a giant long dead. His spear lay across his knees, and his eyes tracked the faint glow of embers dancing above the fire pits. Laughter, usually a faint thread in resting camps, was absent. Even conversation had dropped to murmurs.
No one wanted to break the stillness.
Not after her.
