Sagiri followed the broken branches through the tree line, hating how neatly each one had been snapped at exactly shoulder height for his stride.
'A man running for his life does not leave markers this convenient,' Sagiri thought, tracking the pattern of splintered wood ahead of him, 'which means Sir Black wants me exactly where I am walking.'
Footprints appeared only where the ground would have hidden them from anyone less trained than a Keeper carrying the Archive.
Sagiri slowed his pace rather than close the gap, testing whether the trail adjusted itself to match his speed instead of the other way around.
It did, drifting wider whenever he lagged and narrowing the instant he pushed harder, confirming that the man ahead controlled the distance rather than merely fleeing through it.
'He is herding me somewhere specific,' Sagiri thought, feeling the Archive stir low behind his ribs, 'and whatever waits past this ridge already expects me to arrive.'
