Mist rolled over the ruined town as dawn broke, shrouding broken walls and collapsed rooftops in ghostly white. Soren watched the pale light creep across the courtyard, revealing the slow stirring of the camp around him.

His muscles barely registered the night of stillness, the training had made such vigils second nature.

Lady Aveline emerged from the stone storehouse, her auburn hair neatly braided despite the rustic surroundings.

She paused at the threshold, amber eyes finding him immediately where he stood at the camp's edge. Something in her gaze sharpened as she approached, her boots leaving dark impressions in the dew-soaked grass.

"You've been standing there all night," she said, stopping a few paces from him. Not a question, an observation.

"You were safe," Soren replied simply.

She studied him then, her head tilting slightly. The mist swirled between them, catching in the folds of her traveling cloak. Her expression remained unreadable as she measured him with that calculating gaze.

"Let's see if that continues," she said finally, her tone giving nothing away.

The camp dismantled with practiced efficiency, servants packing supplies, guards checking weapons, the driver inspecting his team with methodical care.

Soren mounted his horse without comment, settling into the saddle as the small caravan formed around Lady Aveline's carriage.

They set out eastward, leaving the ruined town behind. The woodland closed around them like a fist, the path narrowing until branches scraped against the carriage's sides.

Morning light struggled to penetrate the thickening canopy, casting everything in a strange half-light that made distances difficult to judge.

The ground grew damp beneath the horses' hooves, moisture seeping up from soil that never fully dried in this dense cover.

Cold air cut through Soren's cloak, carrying the sharp scent of pine and something else, something less definable that prickled at the back of his neck.

He felt it with growing certainty as they traveled deeper, the forest was watching back.

The sensation wasn't new to him. The Wastes had held similar awareness, though different in quality.

This felt more... deliberate. His eyes swept the surrounding trees, noting how shadows seemed to linger longer than they should, how the undergrowth sometimes moved against the wind.

An hour into their journey, the path narrowed further, forcing the guards to ride single file. Trees pressed close on either side, gnarled trunks and low-hanging branches creating a tunnel of wood and leaf.

Sunlight barely filtered through now, reduced to occasional shafts that pierced the canopy like golden spears.

Soren's senses sharpened, cataloging subtle irregularities in the forest's rhythm. A thrush's song cut off mid-note to his left. Wind shifted through branches ahead, followed by unnatural silence where rustling leaves should have continued. His hand dropped casually to his hip, fingers resting near the disguised blade's hilt.

The lead guard, a weathered veteran with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow, twisted in his saddle, scanning the tree line with narrowed eyes. "Road's too quiet," he muttered as Soren drew even with him.

Soren nodded once but offered no reply. No point confirming what they both felt.

Through the carriage's small window, he caught fragments of conversation, Lady Aveline's measured tones contrasting with her steward's more agitated whispers. The words weren't clear, but the tension carried.

"—can't trust him—" The steward's voice rose briefly before dropping again.

"—my decision, not yours—" Lady Aveline's response, firm but controlled.

The shard against Soren's chest remained cool, neither warning nor encouraging. Then Valenna's voice drifted through his mind, clear despite days of relative silence.

"Something stirs. Trust your pulse."

He didn't answer, but his hand drifted closer to the disguised blade. His heartbeat slowed, steadied, the familiar calm of approaching combat settling into his muscles. The forest held its breath around them.

It happened without warning. An arrow hissed past, so close Soren felt the air disturbed by its passage. The projectile grazed the shoulder of the guard beside him, tearing fabric and drawing a startled curse.

The second arrow struck with deadly precision, catching the lead rider at the junction of neck and shoulder. The man toppled from his saddle without a sound.

"Down!" Soren shouted, already moving.

He dismounted in a single fluid motion, boots hitting the ground as his blade cleared its sheath. The horse bolted forward, creating momentary confusion as the carriage driver struggled to control his team.

Two masked figures rushed from the tree line, crude weapons raised. Soren met the first attacker three strides from the carriage. The man swung wildly, untrained, overeager.

Soren parried with minimal movement, then drove his blade forward with surgical precision. Steel slipped between ribs, finding heart with practiced efficiency. No sound but the soft exhalation as life departed.

The second attacker came from the left, hesitation evident in his clumsy approach. Soren pivoted, blade already moving.

This time he adjusted the angle at the last moment, striking with the flat rather than the edge. The impact dropped the man unconscious rather than dead, a decision made in the fraction of space between heartbeats.

More movement flickered at the edge of his vision, three, perhaps four additional attackers. A shout from deeper in the forest, then sudden retreat. Footsteps crashed through undergrowth, fading rapidly as the remaining ambushers scattered.

Then silence fell again, heavier than before. The forest seemed to exhale around them.

The surviving guards recovered quickly, dragging the bodies clear of the road.

One of the attackers still breathed, the man Soren had struck with the flat of his blade. His armor was mismatched but serviceable, his weapons plain but well-maintained.

Lady Aveline descended from the carriage, ignoring her steward's protests. She knelt beside the unconscious man, studying the leather armor with narrowed eyes.

"Not bandits," she said, fingers tracing a small insignia partially concealed beneath a shoulder plate. "Paid blades."

Soren wiped his weapon clean on a scrap of cloth, movements economical and precise. He remained silent, watchful, cataloging details for later consideration.

The attack had been poorly executed but well-positioned, suggesting local knowledge but limited training.

Lady Aveline's steward pushed forward, his face flushed with anger or fear. "You killed too quickly for a hired guard," he said, glaring at Soren with undisguised suspicion.

Lady Aveline rose in a single smooth motion, her voice cutting through the tension. "He also kept me alive."

Her amber eyes met Soren's across the small clearing, a brief, weighted exchange. He saw the calculation there, the reassessment, the decision to accept what she'd witnessed without demanding explanation. At least for now.

The convoy repaired what damage it could. The fallen guard was wrapped in his cloak and secured across his mount.

The unconscious attacker was bound and loaded into the carriage's small luggage compartment for later questioning.

Within an hour, they were moving again, though the mood had shifted palpably.

The remaining guards now glanced at Soren with unconcealed unease. Not fear, precisely, but the wary respect afforded to something dangerous and unpredictable. They maintained greater distance, hands never straying far from weapons.

From the carriage window, Lady Aveline watched him, her expression thoughtful, calculating, but notably unafraid.

Something in her posture suggested that the attack had confirmed suspicions rather than created them.

"You move as death, even when holding back," Valenna murmured, her voice cool against his thoughts.

Soren felt the truth of her words settle in his chest. The restraint he'd shown, taking one attacker alive, focusing solely on defense, didn't change what he had become during those months underground. It merely disguised it temporarily.

He scanned the forest ahead, where the path curved around a massive fallen oak. Shadows lengthened as afternoon faded toward evening, creating deeper pools of darkness between the trees.

The day's violence had changed nothing about the journey's dangers, only revealed them.

By nightfall, they reached the banks of an overgrown river, its waters dark and swift beneath a tangle of overhanging branches.

Lady Aveline ordered camp established on a small rise overlooking the crossing. As torches were lit and a perimeter established, Soren positioned himself where he could watch both the camp and the surrounding forest.

Restraint, he reflected, didn't erase what he was. It only delayed it.

The prisoner's muffled groans carried through the camp as night settled fully around them. Lady Aveline had ordered him kept separate from the main group, tied to a sturdy oak just beyond the firelight.

The steward had been questioning him for the better part of an hour, his hushed voice occasionally rising with frustration.

Soren maintained his position at the camp's edge, dividing his attention between the surrounding darkness and the proceedings within.

The remaining guards had established a perimeter that was adequate but flawed, too much focus on the river crossing, not enough on the wooded slopes to the north.

He'd considered suggesting adjustments, then decided against it. Let them think him just another blade.

'They know something,' Valenna observed, breaking her extended silence. 'The lady and her steward argue too precisely for this to be unexpected.'

Soren gave no outward acknowledgment, though he couldn't disagree. The attack had surprised them, yes, but not shocked them. There was a difference, one he'd learned to recognize during his time with the Veiled Hand. Surprise meant adjusting plans; shock meant abandoning them.

Lady Aveline approached from the central fire, her steps measured and deliberate. The flickering light caught in her auburn hair, turning it copper-dark against the night. She stopped several paces away, studying him with those unsettling amber eyes.

"Walk with me," she said. Not a request.

He glanced toward the perimeter, where the guards continued their patrol.

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