Morning mist wove through the pine forest like gauze, curling over the narrow winding road. Sunlight filtered through the trees in flickers. The three-vehicle convoy rested in a clearing, partially screened by brush. Tyto leaned against the G63’s armored door, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, absently studying the unopened can she’d refused.

  Richard stepped down from the Unimog, Viktor at his side.

  “Tyto, we’ve been circling south all night. I think we’ve shaken the Resistance. You didn’t leave anything behind at the checkpoint, did you?”

  “No.”

  Tyto removed the cigarette from his lips. Supplies were low—everyone’s tobacco was running thin. He’d have to ration his remaining smokes for the rest of the journey.

  “We’re entering the Delvia mountains soon. That’s Strassov Corps territory,” Viktor said.

  “Thanks to Strassov himself, they might not attack us outright. But no one can guarantee they won’t come for the weapons.”

  Tyto nodded. “I thought there were still Tahir militias in the area?”

  “There are,” Richard said, “but they’re scattered in villages. As long as we stick to forest routes, we’ll avoid them. Strassov’s men are the real issue.”

  “In a field fight, we’d still have the edge. The militias are poorly equipped.”

  Richard grunted. “Still, we’ll need a local guide to move off-road. UAVs are no substitute for local knowledge in these hills.”

  Viktor added, “Drone footage picked up a small village nearby. Looks inhabited. We could pull someone from there.”

  Sunlight thinned quickly. The forecast had called for snow.

  Richard glanced up. “Storms coming.”

  “Then we move fast,” Tyto said.

  “After last night’s detour, how far off schedule are we?”

  “Half a day. Maybe a full one,” Richard replied.

  “You’ll have the morning to rest. We roll out after noon.”

  Tyto nodded. “Captain, mind if she gets some air too?”

  “Who?” Richard didn’t catch on.

  Tyto tilted his cigarette-holding hand toward the G63’s rear.

  “Her.”

  “Fine. She’s your responsibility now. If she escapes, it’s on you.”

  Still, after what Tyto had done at the bridge, Richard clearly didn’t think escape was an option.

  Tyto opened the cage.

  While giving Ricochet the injection, he studied her more carefully than before. She still wore what she’d had on when captured: a dark gray outdoor jacket, torn in several places, blood crusted at the edges; standard-issue tactical pants, ripped and stained, the knees worn pale. Even in daylight, she kept the blanket wrapped tight around her.

  “Why do you always keep the blanket on?”

  “Obviously. I’m cold.”

  “This isn’t Belvarlia’s coldest season.”

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  “Obviously. I’m not from Belvarlia.”

  He didn’t rise to the bait. “What’s your name?”

  “In my country, asking a strange woman’s name is rude,” she replied with a dry smile.

  “Sounds like all your women are agents.” He emphasized the word.

  She looked at him, then broke into laughter.

  “You could say that.”

  Tyto shut the cold box and flipped the compressor on. She watched quietly.

  “You can walk around a bit. But don’t try anything.”

  “I won’t. They took my boots when they caught me.”

  He glanced down—still barefoot.

  “Common tactic. Control through discomfort.”

  “Yes. In my country, they used to do the same to brides.”

  Tyto raised an eyebrow.

  “Your women really are all agents.”

  She snorted. “Shows what little you know. Women were agents long before there were countries.”

  For the first time in days, the team was resting.

  Some refilled water, others napped in the cars. A few gathered around a smokeless stove for a round of chess. The battered set looked like it belonged to Viktor.

  Tyto stood beside the Land Cruiser, watching Gruba dig through a crate.

  He caught sight of her. She was still wrapped in the blanket, walking slowly toward the stove. She said something to the group, then sat down, picking up a pawn.

  “Found them. Smallest sizes I have,” Gruba said, handing him a pair of canvas shoes and a set of cold-weather fatigues.

  “Is it really necessary to keep her warm?”

  “It’s going to snow. She dies, we get nothing.” Tyto said without looking up.

  “Her Gift—really is it allure?” Gruba asked, curious.

  “I thought a straight-laced guy like you wouldn’t ask that.”

  “Come on, who wouldn’t be curious about a Giftborn? We saw yours last night,” Gruba said.

  Tyto found himself oddly willing to hear this oaf’s opinion.

  “What do you think?”

  Gruba shrugged. “Someone like that? Doesn’t need a Gift to be alluring. Might have something else entirely.”

  “Maybe.”

  Tyto looked back toward the chess game. For some reason, he didn’t want to hand her the clothes just yet. Not in front of everyone.

  Laughter broke out from the stove. Viktor’s voice rose in protest.

  He turned and waved. “Hey! Tyto! Come take her on!”

  “I’m coming.”

  Tyto walked over. It wasn’t about chess. Not really. It was a contest of control.

  Yura clapped him on the shoulder and guided him into Viktor’s seat.

  “Don’t underestimate her. None of us have managed to beat her.”

  Who would? Tyto thought.

  She glanced at him, not smug—just calm. She reset the pieces. White.

  “Your move,” she said.

  A few minutes in, Tyto said,

  “Your bishop and knight are gone.”

  She looked up.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve still got my queen.”

  Later, her queen trapped his king.

  The group cheered. The loss seemed to amuse them.

  Tyto stared at the board. Replayed the moves.

  “You sacrificed them on purpose?”

  “Yes. But they weren’t the problem pieces.”

  “What was?”

  He asked without thinking. After the past few days, he knew the rhythm—push, and she’d answer something unexpected.

  “The king. Weak, can’t be lost. The queen has to protect him. Because he’s the rules.”

  The others drifted off. Viktor started packing up.

  Tyto noticed her playing with the black queen. She was thoughtful.

  She caught his gaze. Slowly set the piece back in the box.

  “You,” Tyto said.

  She followed him to the G63.

  He handed her the shoes and the uniform. “It’ll get cold. Wear these.”

  She took them. Didn’t move.

  He suddenly realized why.

  “Change inside,” he said, voice a little off.

  Rustling. Fabric. Movement. He heard it clearly—but forced himself not to listen.

  Then her voice:

  “You’re strange.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the first one who hasn’t insisted on watching.”

  Tyto frowned. There was something behind that.

  “What are you saying?”

  The sounds inside continued.

  “Before you came, they never let me out of sight. Not even for a second. Always afraid I’d escape.”

  Not even a second?

  It hit him.

  And it made him angry.

  “They’re just mercs. Too sloppy. Of course they couldn’t watch you the way I can.”

  It sounded like an excuse. He hated that.

  “Aren’t you a hired gun too?”

  She landed lightly outside the G63.

  “I know what some of them say about me. You haven’t heard it—they don’t know you well enough yet. But they talk.”

  She tilted her head, watching his face.

  Tyto felt a flicker of discomfort. She was lumping him in with the rest.

  “What did they say, exactly?”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “You want me to repeat it? Trying to humiliate me?”

  The silence stretched again.

  “…My fault,” he said at last.