Barrow and Rob sat side by side on the wagon’s bench when the three guards rode up the road toward them. Dust swirled around their horses’ hooves, sunlight glinting off the dull gray of Hundland steel.

  “Good marrow,” Barrow called, tapping two fingers to his shoulder, the formal salute of Hundland’s border patrol.

  Rob mirrored the motion, repeating Barrow’s tone as best he could.

  The lead guard dismounted first, boots crunching against the gravel. He was tall, weathered, and carried the quiet authority of someone used to obedience. The crest on his chestplate, a coiled black serpent devouring its tail, shimmered faintly as he approached.

  “Merchant,” the man greeted flatly.

  “Ah, Demontry,” Barrow replied, recognition coloring his voice with a too-bright warmth. “How are Del, Mora, and little Lees?” he asked, naming the guard’s family.

  If Barrow hoped to disarm him with familiarity, it didn’t work. Demontry’s expression didn’t change.

  “We’ll need to inspect the wagon,” he said simply.

  Barrow’s smile didn’t falter, though Rob caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, of course,” Barrow said smoothly. “You can start with the package tied to the rear.”

  He winked, the smallest, most deliberate gesture. Rob knew it was a bribe, one of Barrow’s many “insurance policies” stashed for occasions like this.

  Demontry didn’t even glance back. “Search the entire wagon,” he ordered, voice like gravel under ice.

  The two subordinates immediately set to work, moving with mechanical precision. One began tearing open crates, tossing trade goods and blankets onto the dirt road. The other circled the wagon with a small crystal sphere in hand, faint light pulsing through it like a heartbeat.

  “Dismount,” Demontry said to them both, eyes never leaving Barrow. “Stand aside.”

  Barrow obeyed without hesitation. He climbed down slowly, his movements deliberate, casual. His face was a mask of patient professionalism. But as Rob followed, he felt a hand, quick, firm, close around his forearm. A subtle squeeze. A warning.

  Don’t move unless you must.

  Rob gave the faintest nod. But beneath the calm, every muscle in his body was coiled, ready. If they found the fox, if one hand reached for a blade, he’d drop all three men before they drew breath for a second shout.

  They stood together on the roadside while the guards worked. The first soldier upended crates of dried fruit, wool, and metal trinkets, scattering weeks of travel into a mess of splinters and dust. The second, the one with the crystal, moved with eerie focus, tracing its glow over every inch of the wagon’s wooden frame.

  When the light passed near the driver’s bench, Rob caught the briefest flicker in the man’s wrist, a subtle reaction, like the crystal’s hum had shifted. It was small enough that only someone watching for it would see.

  Then the guard turned toward them.

  Rob felt, rather than saw, Barrow stiffen beside him. It lasted no more than a heartbeat, but it was there. The merchant’s spine went rigid, the skin at the edge of his neck tightening.

  So the crystal’s not for show.

  It wasn’t detecting contraband; it was looking for residual magic.

  The guard waved the crystal over Barrow first. The glow pulsed once, faint but steady, before dimming again. He moved on to Rob. The crystal shimmered pale blue for a fraction of a second, then returned to dull gray.

  The man looked to Demontry and shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Rob heard Barrow let out the faintest exhale, not relief, exactly, but something like it.

  The other guard stepped back from the wagon, wiping dust from his gloves. “Crates are clean, sir.”

  “Nothing, sir,” echoed the third, straightening from where he’d checked the undercarriage.

  Demontry gave a slow nod but didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on Barrow, too steady, too practiced.

  Then, without warning, he pulled his sword.

  Rob tensed, eyes narrowing, but the guard didn’t swing. Instead, he flipped the blade in his hand and slammed the hilt hard against the wagon’s left side.

  The sound of splitting wood cracked through the morning air.

  Rob’s pulse quickened. The blow had landed with precision, not random, not probing. The hidden compartment Barrow had built into the wagon’s paneling popped open, its latch giving way with a soft metallic snap.

  For the first time, Rob felt the tension pour off the old merchant like heat from a forge. It wasn’t panic; Barrow was too seasoned for that. It was despair, a man who knew that sometimes, luck simply ran out.

  “Empty it,” Demontry said coldly.

  One guard yanked the blankets from the compartment and threw them onto the gravel. The other crouched, hand probing inside.

  Rob’s heart thudded once, then fell into a calm rhythm. His focus narrowed until every sound, boots on stone, fabric tearing, the scrape of metal on wood, burned sharp in his hearing.

  The fox didn’t make a sound. Please, stay asleep, Rob thought. Stay still.

  The guard on the ground lifted the blankets, shaking them out one by one. Nothing. Dust, wool, and air. The other stepped back, brushing off his hands, and shook his head at Demontry.

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  “Empty, sir.”

  For a heartbeat, the only sound was the creak of the wagon settling back on its axle.

  Then Demontry stepped forward. His eyes never left Barrow’s face. The merchant didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. It was a duel of silence.

  Demontry crouched and peered into the open compartment himself. His armor groaned softly as he leaned in.

  Rob shifted his stance slightly, preparing to move if he had to, muscles loose, ready.

  The air grew heavy. Even the forest seemed to still.

  Finally, Demontry drew in a slow breath. The sound was almost a growl. He exhaled through his nose and let out a low, angry huff, the kind that could mean anything. Frustration. Discovery. Or something in between.

  He stayed there, staring into the compartment.

  Not speaking.

  Not moving.

  Barrow’s hand twitched at his side. Rob didn’t move at all.

  The only sound left was the faint, restless snort of one of the horses, and the steady, patient beat of Rob’s heart counting down the seconds before everything changed.

  Demontry pulled back from the open compartment, his breath leaving him in a visible sigh of deflation. Whatever suspicion had burned in his eyes moments ago flickered and died.

  He straightened, sheathing his sword with a deliberate motion, and gave a small circular gesture in the air.

  The two subordinate guards immediately mounted their horses, turned without a word, and rode back the way they had come.

  The silence that followed was almost tender.

  Demontry lingered, gaze sweeping the road and the scattered remains of Barrow’s wares. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose.

  “Had to be done, Barrow,” he said finally, his tone softer now, almost weary. “A spell was tripped not far from here. We were ordered to sweep the roads.”

  Barrow didn’t answer.

  Demontry looked past him, scanning the treeline. Then, with another subtle gesture, he signaled to someone unseen. Rob’s sharp senses picked up the faint rustle of movement, a shadow shifting high on a branch, the whisper of cloth against bark, and then the sound faded as the unseen archer melted back into the forest.

  “Be glad I got here first,” Demontry added. “The others would’ve shot first and asked after.”

  No apology. No hint of remorse. Only the casual cruelty of a man who thought this was mercy.

  “Understandable,” Barrow replied evenly, voice stripped of warmth. He didn’t look at his ruined goods scattered along the road. He didn’t have to. He’d already counted the losses in his head.

  Demontry bent, picked up the wrapped bundle from where it had rolled, and tucked it under his arm as though it had always belonged to him.

  “The family’s well,” he said, glancing once toward Barrow. The words felt like a peace offering that had lost its meaning.

  Barrow just nodded.

  Demontry mounted his horse, straightening his coat. “Be seeing you.”

  And with that, he spurred the animal into motion. Dust rose in his wake, swallowing him and the sound of his horse’s hooves until both were gone.

  Rob and Barrow stood in silence. The morning air felt heavier now, the kind of stillness that settles after a storm, not from peace but from exhaustion.

  Rob’s fingers flexed at his side. Every instinct in him screamed to chase them down, to make Hundland answer for their arrogance, but he didn’t. He stood still, every muscle burning with restraint.

  When he finally turned to Barrow, the old merchant’s mask had cracked. The polite smile, the calm eyes, gone. What replaced them was raw anger, frustration, and grief.

  “What?” Barrow snapped, his voice rising. “You want a medal for holding back?”

  He shoved past Rob toward the wagon. His boots crunched over spilled grain and splintered wood. He leaned into the open compartment, searching.

  Empty.

  He lingered there for a long moment before stepping back, jaw tight, eyes glassy with fury he couldn’t direct anywhere. Then, wordlessly, he began gathering his scattered belongings, stacking crates, brushing dirt off cloth sacks, muttering under his breath.

  Rob bent to help, but Barrow spun on him.

  “Don’t,” he barked, his voice cracking. “You’ve done enough.”

  Rob froze. The pain in Barrow’s tone hit harder than any shout. He stepped back, his expression a silent apology that couldn’t find words.

  “Just…” Barrow started harshly, then stopped. His shoulders slumped. “Just go.”

  For a moment, neither of them moved.

  Then Rob nodded once, throat tight. A single tear cut a warm path down his cheek, stinging against the morning chill. It wasn’t just guilt. It was a moment of mourning for the first person in this strange world who had treated him like something human.

  “I’m sorry,” Rob said quietly, almost to himself, before turning toward the road.

  His boots crunched on the gravel as he began to walk west.

  Behind him, Barrow stood among the ruins of his trade, fists clenched at his sides.

  “Please…” the old man called, voice softer now.

  Rob stopped but didn’t turn.

  “Please be safe, kid,” Barrow finished.

  For a heartbeat, Rob almost looked back. Almost. But some part of him knew it would only make it worse.

  He nodded once, barely perceptible, and kept walking.

  Barrow watched until the figure disappeared into the mist of the western road, the echo of footsteps fading into nothing. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, muttered something too quiet to carry, and returned to stacking the last of his crates.

  And though neither would admit it aloud, a small spark still lingered, a quiet, stubborn hope that somewhere down the road, fate might grant them a chance to set things right.

  Alone again, Rob allowed his senses to expand outward in careful pulses, not far, not enough to trip any mage who might be listening.

  The faint shimmer of magic along the leyline beside the road told him no one nearby was actively casting. Satisfied, he let his awareness stretch further, brushing over the forest around him like ripples on water.

  There were more guards scattered through the trees; he could feel their footfalls, their deliberate, searching movements. One group inspected the empty trap he’d found earlier. Further west, another pried open fresh steel jaws. And then… his heart clenched.

  A guard knelt over another trap, pulling a limp fox from its bloody teeth. Rob froze in place. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t dare confirm what his instincts told him. The creature had no heartbeat.

  He swallowed hard and turned away, forcing his emotions to still. He’d seen enough death to recognize when mercy no longer existed in a place.

  He wanted to sprint, to unleash his strength, cross the forest in moments, but the quest demanded subtlety. Not might. Not this time.

  His thoughts flickered back to what he couldn’t tell Barrow: that no spell from those traps could have ever marked him. His level and wards were far too high. The risk had never been his. But telling Barrow that would’ve only caused more questions.

  Instead, his mind returned to the fox. The white fox. He couldn’t fathom how she’d escaped the wagon’s sealed compartment. There had been no exit, no opening. It was impossible. And yet… somehow, she had vanished.

  If the guards had found her, Barrow’s road would have been paved with blood by now. Rob would’ve been forced to intervene, to end the soldiers, and with that, destroy any chance of keeping his cover in Hundland.

  He sighed and walked on. The road curved gently north, passing the worn marker that led to the route Barrow would have taken, the true fork of their parting.

  His chest tightened with unexpected grief. “We’ll see each other in Pendle,” Barrow had said. Rob hoped it was true.

  But some roads were meant to be walked alone.

  “Thank you.”

  The voice was soft, light, like bells muffled by distance.

  Rob stopped. The hair on his neck prickled.

  He turned in a slow circle, eyes narrowing. The forest was still. No aura, no presence… nothing.

  “Down here.”

  He looked lower, and there, at the base of an oak just off the road, sat the white fox, tail curled neatly around her paws, eyes like molten silver in the shade.