Rand screamed himself awake for the third night running.
Spencer heard it from across the camp — raw terror from someone fighting battles in the space between sleep and waking. By the time he reached the edge of Rand's tent, Moiraine was already there, Lan standing guard with sword drawn against enemies that couldn't be cut.
"The same dream?" Moiraine's voice carried the particular calm of someone who'd witnessed this too many times.
Rand sat on his blankets, sweat-soaked, trembling. His thread blazed with the aftermath — gold-white light flickering with void-black scars where Ba'alzamon's influence had pressed against his consciousness.
"He's getting closer," Rand said. "Every night, he finds me faster. Every night, the fire burns longer."
Spencer activated Thread Sight and examined Rand's thread more closely than he'd dared before.
The residue was unmistakable. Ba'alzamon's void-signature wrapped around Rand's gold like chains, systematic malice pressing against the Dragon's defenses with grinding patience. Each night weakened Rand. Each night left new scars.
But there was something else.
Tendrils. Reaching past Rand. Sweeping the camp.
Spencer watched the dream-attack residue extend beyond its primary target. Thin threads of void-darkness spread outward like searchlights, scanning the surrounding area with methodical precision. Not attacking — hunting.
He's not just attacking Rand. He's scanning for something else.
For me.
---
Spencer stayed awake that night.
He positioned himself at the camp's edge, Thread Sight active, waiting for the next sweep of Ba'alzamon's probes. Moiraine's wards protected Rand's sleep, but nothing protected the camp's perimeter from the searching tendrils that accompanied each dream-attack.
The probe came past midnight.
A wash of void-darkness swept across the camp — invisible to normal senses, unmistakable to Thread Sight. The darkness touched each sleeping form, reading threads, cataloguing patterns, searching for something that didn't fit.
Searching for the anomaly.
Spencer raised his Codex awareness and met the tendril as it swept toward his position.
[DREAM DEFENSE: Active interception. Incoming probe: Ba'alzamon void-signature. Deflection mode: Passive camouflage. Cost: 12 Codex Stamina. Result: Probe deflected — target not identified.]
The spike of Stamina drain hit Spencer like a punch to the chest. Twelve points — nearly a quarter of his reserves — spent in a single instant of defense. The probe slid past him, missing by inches, continuing its sweep before fading.
Spencer sat in the darkness, breathing hard, watching his Codex Stamina tick slowly upward.
He's looking for me. Actively. During every attack on Rand.
He knows I'm somewhere in the region. He just doesn't know exactly where.
And I can't sustain nightly defenses at this cost. Three more nights like this and I'll be completely drained.
---
The second night was worse.
Spencer forced himself to stay awake, watching Rand's tent, waiting for the inevitable. When the screaming started, he was ready — but so was Ba'alzamon.
Two probes swept the camp simultaneously. Spencer deflected the first, felt the Stamina drain hit, and barely caught the second before it passed his position.
[WARNING: Multiple probe interception. Total cost: 24 Codex Stamina. Codex Stamina: 16/48. Recommendation: Alternative defense strategy required.]
Spencer's hands shook as the probes faded.
Two probes. Tomorrow night there might be three.
He's adapting. Learning. Getting closer.
In the distance, Rand's tent showed movement — the Dragon pacing, unable to sleep, fighting something no sword could cut. Through Thread Sight, Spencer watched the scorch-marks on Rand's thread — fresh burns from tonight's attack, layered over older scars.
How many nightmares can a person survive before the nightmares win?
How many nights can I keep deflecting before I collapse and give Ba'alzamon exactly what he's hunting for?
---
Dawn found Spencer sitting against a tree, shadows under his eyes.
Moiraine approached with the particular focus of someone who'd been observing longer than she'd let on.
"You haven't slept," she said.
"No."
"Why?"
Spencer considered lying. The exhaustion made it hard to calculate risks, hard to maintain the careful architecture of half-truths he'd built over months.
"The attacks on Rand aren't just attacks. They're searches." He rubbed his eyes. "Something is scanning the camp during each nightmare. Looking for... something."
Moiraine's ageless face showed nothing, but her thread tightened with concern.
"You can see this?"
"Yes."
"And you've been staying awake to defend against it?"
"To avoid being found."
Moiraine was silent for a long moment. Her thread churned with calculations — weighing his usefulness against his secrets, measuring the value of his abilities against the cost of his continued evasions.
"I can ward you against evil dreams," she said finally. "The same protection I give Rand. It would let you sleep safely."
Spencer's exhausted mind caught the implication.
Warding me means weaving Spirit around my thread. Getting close enough to feel what I am.
She's offering protection in exchange for information — or at least, the opportunity to gather it.
But I can't stay awake forever. Two more nights like this and I'll collapse.
And collapsing in Forsaken-hunting territory is worse than letting Moiraine touch my thread.
"Yes," Spencer said. "Please."
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