The caravan moved at a steady pace, the rhythmic creak of wagon wheels blending with the rustling of wind through the trees. A constant, unbroken song of movement.
Raine walked near the back, his hood pulled low, blending into the flow of merchants and travelers. He should have felt relief now that Vaelora was behind him. The walls, the city, the Arcanum's cold, silent judgment—all left in the dust of the road.
But the weight pressing against his ribs told him otherwise.
He wasn't safe.
He hadn't escaped.
Not yet.
The road stretched before them, twisting through an old forest, its towering trees leaning inward, branches creaking as they swayed. The wind whispered through the canopy, bending leaves against one another, like hushed voices in a language he couldn't quite understand.
The travelers were quiet, lost in their own worries, wrapped in thoughts of trade, of coin, of home.
Yet, beneath the idle conversations, beneath the shuffling of hooves and the dull murmur of wheels against earth, Raine felt something else.
A presence.
At first, he had ignored it. Blamed paranoia.
But the feeling lingered, nagging at the edges of his senses like an itch just beneath the skin.
A pressure in the air. A weight that hadn't been there before.
Then, he saw him.
A new traveler had joined the caravan at dawn. Tall. Lean. Silent.
He might have been unremarkable at a glance, just another wanderer with a face worn by the road, his cloak dull and dust-streaked, his boots well-used. Yet something about him felt off.
A thin scar ran from his jaw to his collarbone, barely noticeable unless the light struck just right. He walked as the others did, but his movements were too smooth, too precise.
He wasn't watching the road.
He was watching people.
Watching him.
Raine kept his pace steady, pretending not to notice, forcing his breath into an even rhythm. Running now would only draw attention. He needed to be sure.
He let the caravan move ahead slightly, lowering his gaze to the ground where a shallow puddle reflected the travelers around him.
The scarred man wasn't looking at him.
Not directly.
But he had adjusted his pace. Matched Raine's movements almost exactly.
A hunter.
Raine's fingers twitched at his sides.
He had already pushed his luck staying with the caravan. He had thought the crowds, the numbers, would keep him hidden. He had been wrong.
Ahead, two merchants walked side by side, their conversation hushed, meant only for each other. But the wind carried fragments of their words, slipping between the noise of the wagons.
"—bounty posted two days ago."
"Already that high? Must be someone important."
"Not important. Dangerous."
Raine's stomach twisted.
The Arcanum hadn't hesitated. They had put a price on his head before he had even left the city.
Which meant they weren't just waiting for him to disappear.
They were making sure he didn't.
The realization settled in his chest like lead.
Someone in this caravan had already seen the notice. Soon, someone would make the connection.
That night, the caravan stopped near the treeline, settling in a small clearing. Fires were lit, sending flickering light against the trunks of the ancient trees. Travelers gathered in quiet groups, trading food, sharing stories, trying to chase away the night with conversation.
Raine sat apart, his back against a thick tree trunk, watching.
Across the fire, the scarred man sat with a small knife in hand, sharpening the edge.
Slow, methodical movements. Not rushed. Not anxious.
He wasn't looking at Raine.
Not directly.
But he didn't need to.
The message was clear.
I see you.
Raine exhaled through his nose, slow and steady. He had made a mistake. Staying with the caravan had been a risk, and now he was paying for it.
He needed to leave.
Now.
He shifted, preparing to rise, preparing to slip away before the camp settled too deeply into sleep—
Then it happened.
A sensation crawled up his spine.
Not fear.
Not danger.
Something else.
The air shifted. Thickened. The weight of it pressed against his skin, as though the space around him had changed, stretched, become something else.
His pulse quickened.
He glanced around the camp.
The fires burned low, their embers glowing like dying stars. The usual sounds of night—the hum of insects, the rustling of unseen creatures moving in the underbrush—were gone.
No birds.
No leaves stirring.
Just silence.
The unnatural kind.
Raine inhaled sharply, forcing himself to shake it off. Exhaustion. Stress. His mind playing tricks on him.
But still, the unease remained.
The scarred man was watching him.
And something else was, too.
He had to leave before it was too late.