The foothills rose in long, uneven folds. Old stone covered in scrub grass and the kind of quiet that only showed up after something stopped burning. Eloy's legs moved on autopilot. His ankle had gone from screaming to a dull persistent throb, either improvement or numbness. Probably numbness.
He'd take it.
Behind them, the fire was an orange smear on the horizon. Getting smaller. The ten signatures were down in the valley, circling a gully entrance that led to a passage they'd already left. By the time those signatures figured out the exit vector, the trail would be cold.
Three people walking uphill in the dark.
"Water break." Isolde stopped beside a flat-topped boulder. No question in it. Eloy dropped onto the stone before his legs could argue. The pack hit the ground next to him. Water skin. Half full. He drank two swallows and handed it to Maya without thinking about it.
Maya took it. Drank. Handed it to Isolde. No ceremony. No negotiation.
