Dawn arrived not with light, but with a slow, gray bleed that made the forest look like a graveyard of frozen bones.

  The cold was absolute. It gnawed through the soles of Arjun’s boots and settled deep into the marrow of his shins. He sat exactly where Isabella had left him hours ago, the rusted iron chain resting heavy across his thighs. He hadn't slept. He had simply existed in the freezing dark, staring at the faded red strip of cloth in his palm until the frost crusted over his knuckles.

  "He doesn't walk another mile."

  The voice cut through the stillness of the camp like a whip.

  Arjun slowly raised his head. Elena was standing ten paces away, the rusted kinetic charge glowing a faint, violent orange in her hand. She wasn't looking at him. She was glaring at Greta, who was kicking dirt over the dying embers of their fire.

  "Lower it, Elena," Greta said, her voice rough from exhaustion. "We are moving. Pack your gear."

  "I’m not turning my back on him in the daylight," Elena snapped, pointing the charge directly at Arjun’s chest. "Think about the logistics, Greta. You said it yourself—the Queen opened the door. You really think Claudia just threw away her prized Gauntlet? The Vanguard General doesn’t just surrender."

  Frederick paused, a bundle of frozen tent canvas in his arms. Isabella, kneeling by the ash, simply turned her head.

  "State your theory," Greta commanded, her eyes narrowing.

  "He’s a bloodhound," Elena said, her voice dripping with venom. "He’s a sleeper. The Queen let us take him so he could map our route. He’s tracking our headings. He’s memorizing the topography. The second we lead him back to the stronghold, he breaks those chains and signals Commander Vane. If we let him walk out of this clearing, he kills us all."

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  It was a flawless tactical deduction. It was exactly the kind of cold, calculated maneuver Arjun himself would have designed a week ago.

  Arjun looked down at the iron cuffs around his wrists. He didn't speak. He didn't defend himself. A strange, hollow part of him hoped she would just trigger the charge and end it. It would be a fitting conclusion. The Mad Queen’s greatest weapon, executed in the mud for a master plan he wasn't even part of.

  He closed his eyes, waiting for the flash of kinetic heat.

  "Look at his boots, Elena."

  The low, gravelly voice belonged to Frederick. The old veteran dropped the canvas and pointed a calloused finger at Arjun’s feet.

  "What about them?" Elena hissed, not lowering the charge.

  "The leather is cracked. The laces are frozen solid to the tongue," Frederick stated, stepping between Elena and Arjun. "He is shivering so hard his teeth are chipping. A Vanguard bloodhound sent on a deep-winter tracking mission is given thermal gear and kinetic warming stones. The Queen didn't outfit him for a march. She left him in summer armor to freeze to death, the same as us."

  "That proves nothing!" Elena argued. "He could be suffering just to sell the lie."

  "He is not lying," Isabella murmured.

  The kinetic mage stood up, her right hand heavily bandaged with torn linen. She looked at Arjun, her dark eyes piercing straight through his physical shell.

  "A man calculating a route keeps his mind sharp," Isabella said softly. "His aura is shattered. A spy does not bleed from his own memories."

  Elena scoffed, stepping closer. "So what? We just trust him because he's sad?"

  "We trust nothing," Greta finally spoke. The rebel leader stepped forward, her authority absolute. She walked right up to Arjun, looking down at his exhausted, frozen face.

  "Stand up, General," Greta ordered.

  Arjun slowly forced his legs to obey. His joints screamed, the freezing air biting at his exposed neck.

  Greta grabbed the center of his iron chain, pulling him an inch from her face. "Elena is right to want you dead. I am right to want you alive. Here is the compromise."

  She leaned in, her voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.

  "If we hear a Vanguard tracking horn… if I see a single broken twig that looks like you are leaving a trail… Elena will not kill you. I will. And I will take my time doing it. Do we understand each other?"

  Arjun met her eyes. For the first time since the camp burned, a tiny spark of his old, iron-clad discipline flickered in the void of his chest.

  "Understood," he rasped.

  Greta shoved him back. "Elena, take the point. Frederick, cover our tracks. We march until our legs give out."