There was no rest that night, not that we'd expected any. It was the cost of our trap, and one we didn't have a choice but to pay. The bodies would attract scavengers and monsters alike, and this was the only opportunity we were going to have to change our tracks.

  The breaks in Nadine’s ribs had worsened in the fighting. I could hear it in her breathing, and see it in the way she guarded every movement long after the fighting stopped.

  “Let me,” I said quietly.

  She hesitated only a moment before nodding and leaning closer. I reached for the light I’d touched before, more carefully this time, paying attention as it answered. It didn’t draw on my blood. It didn’t even feel like mine in the way my other abilities did. It rose from somewhere deeper and steadier, a separate well I was only beginning to understand.

  Nadine stiffened as it flowed into her, then slowly relaxed. I felt the bones knit, the strain ease, and when it was done she let out a shaky breath and pressed her forehead against my shoulder. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t flinch. She just stayed there, holding on to me for a long few seconds while she steadied herself.

  When she finally stepped back, her breathing was even. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  We found their horses nearby and brought them back to camp. Most appeared to have been leased from a stable in the city, except the paladin’s stallion. He watched us with calm, dark eyes and followed without protest. I could have sworn he radiated grief for his fallen rider, disappointment at the path that had led him here, and a stubborn determination to move forward and redeem himself. Or, at least, I told myself that. He was a horse, after all, and I was just glad he was eager to travel on with us.

  We didn't linger, moving as much of the supplies as we could reasonably take from the wagon to the horses, taking a few easily removed items and coins from our assailants, then loading the bodies into the wagon before setting it alight.

  We left the spellbreaker with a pack, enough food for several days, and knots that would take him only a few minutes to free himself from. He was close to regaining his senses when we left, but not quite, and I doubt he saw us go.

  Other than short breaks to rest and switch mounts, we didn’t stop again until near sunrise, when we found the next crossroads. An outpost there had an inn and stable with some grazing, and we took a few hours’ rest before moving on, leaving north before cutting overland a mile up the road to switch to the west fork. It wasn’t a great deceit, but that close to the crossroads and only on horseback, there were enough tracks that it might work.

  The horses settled into an easy pace once we left the road behind, hooves muffled by grass and loose soil. I let mine pick the path, more passenger than rider, and tried not to think too hard about what I was doing with my hands.

  After a few minutes, Nadine glanced over at me. “You ride often?” She asked.

  I shook my head. “Not at all.”

  She frowned slightly, watching the way my horse adjusted around a low dip in the ground without me prompting it. “You look steady enough.”

  “I just stay out of his way,” I said. “He seems to know where he’s going.”

  It earned a small smile. “That does help.” She paused, then added, “Then, maybe I can offer some advice. You’re sitting too stiff. Let your hips move with him a little more. Like this.” She demonstrated, her movements subtle but noticeable if I watched for them, her posture shifting just enough that the motion smoothed out.

  I tried to copy her, and it helped almost immediately. My shoulders loosened, and the rhythm stopped fighting me.

  “You’re not bad,” she said after a moment. “You just don’t know why it’s working.”

  “Yes, that sounds familiar,” I replied.

  She laughed softly at that, then shrugged. “I’m not an expert either. I rode a little as a child, mostly because my tutor insisted it was part of a proper education. I hated it at first.” She glanced down at her hands on the reins. “It grew on me.”

  I nodded, watching the trees slide past. “That's happened to me a lot on this journey. Things just… work. Until they don’t.”

  Nadine was quiet for several seconds. Then, cautiously, she approached a more serious subject. “You changed back there. After the fighting.”

  It was such a simple question, I didn't understand the apprehension. “Yes.”

  “Was that because of the evolution you mentioned?” she asked. The curiosity in her voice replaced the careful tone from just a moment before, caution put aside at my simple, open answer.

  “Part of it,” I said. “The evolution drained me. I was starving and in pain. Feeding helped me recover. The fighting helped me understand some of the changes, and I think the rest is still settling.”

  She considered that. “Does it always hurt?”

  “Usually,” I admitted. “This one less than the others, if we don't count my back and the starvation… Which somehow makes it worse.”

  She huffed a breath of laughter. “Of course it does.”

  I glanced at her, then away again. I hadn’t planned to say more, but the words kept coming anyway.

  “It’s different this time,” I said. “Before, things changed and then they were done. I didn’t have to think about it. Like a birthday. You went to sleep, and when you woke up, you were a year older. That was it.” I rolled my shoulders against the memory of pain there. "This time, it was an entirely new experience. Almost like being in a dream, only, not my own, where I had some limited control."

  I went quiet for a moment, letting the thought settle before I trusted it with words.

  "The choices I made there, and the things I saw—I'm still not sure what it all meant. This feels… unfinished. Like something I can touch, if I close my eyes and reach inward.”

  When I looked up, Nadine’s eyes were bright in a way I recognized immediately. Interest and curiosity sparkled like torchlight. “Can you feel what’s different?”

  “Yes,” I said. “At least, I think so. I haven't had a chance to sort it out yet.”

  She nodded slowly. “If you’re willing, I’d like to ask you questions. Later. When we stop.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried this kind of information might lead you down a dark path?”

  “I am,” she said. “And I’m going to ask the questions anyway.”

  “That seems fair,” I said, unable to keep the corner of my mouth from lifting.

  We rode on in companionable silence after that, the horses doing most of the work, the road slowly drifting back toward where we needed it to be. For the first time since leaving the city, the quiet didn’t feel like something waiting to break.

  We made camp earlier than we needed to. The light was still good, the ground dry and gently sloped, with enough tree cover to break the wind without choking the space. It felt chosen rather than found.

  The horses seemed to agree. They settled quickly, heads lowering as soon as the tack came off, more interested in grazing than wandering. One of them, the paladin's charger, kept drifting back toward me whenever I moved, close enough that I had to step around him more than once.

  Nadine noticed. “They do that to you a lot,” she said, tone dry.

  “I don’t encourage it,” I replied. "Animals just seem to like me."

  “That's one way to put it. I don't think that big fellow will be easy to leave behind… speaking of which, what should we do with them all? There really isn't a way to return them."

  I shrugged, "Keep going as we have, I suppose. It is saving us a lot of time to have horses to switch between as they tire."

  "You make a good point. I hope our funds hold out until we get where we're going. Horses add up."

  I paused, then glanced where the saddles were stacked nearby. "I suppose we'll have to see exactly how much money the hunting party brought for us after we finish setting camp."

  She tended the horses with practiced care, checking hooves, loosening straps, brushing dirt from coats that were already cleaner than they had any right to be. I followed her lead, copying where I could, staying out of the way where I couldn’t. I was glad not to feel entirely useless at the task, this time. Whatever calm clung to me seemed to spread outward. By the time we were done, the horses looked like they’d been with us for days instead of hours.

  We ate while the light faded, mixing stolen rations with what we’d salvaged from the wagon. Hard bread softened over the fire. Dried meat cut with fresher fare. Nothing fancy, but enough.

  Nadine’s gaze drifted to the sword resting near my pack. “You kept the paladin’s sword.”

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  “I did.”

  “Do you know how to use it? I don't think I've ever seen you with a weapon other than your staff. It doesn't seem particularly saintly."

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s not what I’d choose, but it’s familiar enough.”

  She nodded. “And I suppose it will sell for a decent amount if you don't like it.” She paused, as if listening to my words again before asking, "What would you choose? Another staff?"

  I grinned, shaking my head. "Oh, no. I want a greatsword."

  She stared back for a moment, then glanced at the weapon again. "Well, it's not quite a greatsword."

  “No,” I agreed. “Not quite. But sturdier than what I had.” I thought of the way my last weapon had failed, metal crumpled from the strain. “This one’s lightly enchanted. It’ll hold an edge, and hopefully it won’t break the first time I push it.”

  “That matters,” she said, slightly more interested in the blade.

  “A lesson I learned the hard way."

  That led to me telling some of the stories of my travels as we finished eating, something I found much more enjoyable when I didn't need to hide anything or stretch the truth. As we finished our meal, we banked the fire low, and settled in. The horses lay down nearby, close enough that I could hear them breathing. Nadine stretched out, wincing once before easing into stillness.

  "Get some rest. I'll keep watch."

  “You’re sure?” she asked, already half asleep.

  “Yes. I just slept for days, if you recall. I will be fine."

  She didn’t argue, and I felt the quiet, unspoken trust.

  I stayed awake as the camp drifted into rest, listening to the night take shape around us. The world slowed. The noise thinned. As the sun set, I turned part of my attention inward. Whatever waited inside me felt closer to the surface when the rest of the world slept.

  The sky was clear, lit by moonlight and stars, by the time the fire burned down. I kept the coals banked, but didn’t worry about the fire. I didn’t need it for warmth, and Nadine was close enough that the embers in the pit kept her comfortable in her bedroll.

  The stillness made room for a familiar ache I hadn’t allowed myself to touch since I’d walked away. I felt it stir, and let it pass.

  The night had settled into a deeper rhythm, slower and more deliberate. The steady breathing of the horses nearby, their occasional shift of weight soft against the ground, was our only company. I had missed this feeling. The quiet, watchful hours of the night. A calm time of listening, set apart from the rush of the day. This was the time I was meant to exist in.

  I heard Nadine stir behind me a short while later. She rolled once, then again, careful, before pushing herself upright with a quiet breath.

  She hesitated, then spoke softly. “Do you mind?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all.”

  She drew her cloak tighter and came to sit beside me, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. We watched the tree line together for a few moments, the stars bright overhead.

  “I don’t sleep well anymore,” she said at last. “My thoughts don’t know where to settle.”

  “That makes sense,” I replied.

  She nodded, accepting the answer without needing more. After another stretch of silence, she glanced toward me. “Earlier, when you said your evolution was still settling… I keep thinking about that.”

  I turned slightly, giving her my attention.

  “When I learn a new enchantment,” she said, “it never settles all at once. There’s the part you expect… and then the rest shows up later, sideways.” Her fingers traced idle patterns in the dirt. “If you’re willing, I’d like to understand what you’ve felt so far.”

  “Eager to begin your descent into the night?” I teased.

  A small smile answered me, and she jumped right into it. Her questions came one at a time, measured and patient.

  “What changed first?”

  I hummed. “I have no idea. I imagine everything happened at once. I wasn’t aware of the changes until after I woke.”

  “Ah,” she breathed. “Then what did you notice first?”

  I rolled my shoulders. “Pain. A thirst so strong I had trouble thinking. And my back. It was like muscles had been torn away, leaving wounds that couldn’t heal. I wasn’t able to feel anything else until after I’d fed.”

  She nodded. “And then?”

  “And then I was fighting. But that helped,” I said after a moment. “My abilities came more easily. I didn’t have to reach for my magic. It was alive in my veins, waiting to be used. I can feel there’s more to it. To everything. I’m still working through the changes.”

  “Then let’s look at it another way,” she said. “What stayed the same?”

  “The hunger,” I said, almost amused. “It’s quieter now, but it’s still there. It always is.”

  She nodded, absorbing that. “What does it cost? The evolution, I mean. I saw you absorb so much blood into that prison. Would you have had to kill so many people? Is there more?”

  I exhaled slowly, a small fear of her judgment creeping in even as I saw no trace of it in her eyes. “It could have cost more. In fact, I think what I had was barely enough. Some of it could have come from monster blood, but most would have been mortal.” I paused, considering. “I felt thin when I woke. Drained in a way I wasn’t expecting. Starved, even. I keep wondering if that came from the wings. Or from choosing my own path instead of accepting what was offered.”

  She froze, then slowly looked me over. “Wings? Offered by who? What paths?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, following her scrutiny. “Ah. While I was in the crystal, I was somewhere else. I’m not certain where. A place old and forgotten. Full of memories. Full of…others. Like me.”

  I cleared my throat, brushing past the omission I always made, even at home. But her other question lingered. She was right. Those paths had been offered by someone. Not the other Sovereigns. They had only been present at the beginning and the end. The rest had been memories. Even the image of the First Sovereign vanished the moment I stepped away from his path.

  So who, then?

  I skipped it, for now, moving on. “It was almost like a dream. I had to use blood to carve my way forward, to find the places I was meant to be.”

  Her gaze sharpened, interest bright and focused. “And the wings?”

  “Near the end of the evolution,” I said, struggling to explain, memories pressing forward and dragging the weight of those choices with them. I shook my head and went to the end instead. “They were part of me. Great crimson wings. They were gone when I woke, but still listed on my status. They feel…” I searched for the word. “Present. Like they’ve always been there. I just haven’t reached for them yet.”

  Nadine was quiet for a moment, then smiled faintly. “That sounds like a major structural change.”

  I laughed at how odd, yet accurate the words were for the situation. “It feels like one.”

  She leaned back on her hands, eyes lifting to the stars. “Thank you for telling me. I know that kind of openness isn’t easy.”

  I realized I was relaxing in ways I hadn’t noticed before. Talking to her felt simple. Honest. It felt easier than I’d expected. Easier than it should have, given who I’d left behind. There were things I still wasn’t ready to say, but I hadn’t needed to weigh every word or reshape the truth into something safer.

  “I’m glad I can,” I said. “With you.”

  She glanced at me, something warm and steady in her expression. “Then we’ll sort it out together.”

  The words lingered longer than they should have. I looked down at my hands, then back toward the dark stretch of ground beyond the fire’s reach.

  “If we are sorting things out together, then I suppose that is the obvious one to start with,” I said.

  Nadine followed my gaze without comment. "Oh?"

  "I should be able to manifest them. The wings, I mean. To see what they're really like. I just haven't tried yet."

  “Because you weren’t ready?”

  I snorted softly. “Because I wasn’t sure I could afford it,” I replied. “I still don’t know. It was a lot of blood, but I just fed. It should be safe now.”

  "What would happen if there weren't enough blood?"

  "Good question," I answered, trying to keep a mischievous grin from my face. "Maybe I'll collapse into a desiccated husk. Or, go mad with hunger."

  She only stared at me, not biting.

  I shrugged. "More likely, I just fail. I'm sure if it was anything too bad, father would have warned me about it while I was learning my other abilities."

  She considered this, then nodded once. “If you decide to, I can watch, and tell you what I see.”

  “That would help.”

  I stepped a little farther from the camp, far enough not to startle the horses. The memory of the first time the wings had torn free surfaced unbidden. The force. The blood. I wasn’t interested in repeating that part. It wasn’t the mess so much as the fact that I only had one set of clothes.

  I worked my mantle loose, folding it and setting it aside. Nadine guessed the problem as I began working on the robe and came to help, her hands shivering at even considering so much skin exposed to the cold night air. I settled my shift on top of the folded pile of clothing, and rolled my shoulders as if loosening them would make what was coming easier.

  “I don’t know how much this will take,” I said, glancing back at her. “It felt expensive before.”

  “You don’t have to prove anything,” she said.

  “I know.” I took a breath. “I just need to know.”

  The essence answered the moment I reached for it. Not all at once, but in a heavy pull that tightened my chest. The cost came first, swift and merciless, draining deeper than I’d expected. I gasped, already wishing I’d taken more from the paladin while I’d had the chance.

  Then the pressure started.

  It built along my back, beneath my shoulders, a spreading ache that felt like muscles waking after years of disuse. There was no tearing this time. No violent eruption of blood. Just an insistence, a steady push outward that made me grit my teeth and lean forward, my breath stuck in my lungs until the ground steadied beneath my feet.

  The wings emerged cleanly, feather by feather, unfolding with a weight that shifted my balance as they settled behind me on the grass. When the essence stopped flowing, they didn't fade or draw on it. They simply were.

  I straightened slowly, testing the pull of them. I felt them drag along the ground with the action, and the way they changed where my body wanted to rest. They were stiff, but unmistakably mine. Like arms I hadn’t moved in years, finally remembering their place.

  I folded them back, an action that felt instinctive, even if they resisted at first.

  Then, I tried to draw them back in.

  The impulse came easily. The response did not. The essence stirred, then resisted, the cost rising sharply the moment I pressed.

  I let go at once, pulse quickening.

  “That’s new,” I said.

  "What is?" Nadine asked, sensing something was wrong.

  I lifted one wing slightly. “It costs essence to recall them. More than I have.”

  Her eyes tracked their span. “They aren’t an effect,” she said slowly. “They’re a state.”

  “I should have expected it,” I said. “Vampires of my father’s bloodline can shift into bats. They have to shift back, too. This must be similar.”

  I shifted again, awareness settling in. How much space they claimed. How easily they could catch, or strike, or get in the way. The thought that I hadn’t only gained something finally took hold.

  Nadine drew a quiet breath. “They look… real.”

  “They feel real,” I said, brushing my fingers along a soft crimson feather. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

  She stepped closer, focused entirely on the wings, and ran her hand carefully along one side. I flinched at the unfamiliar contact, then relaxed as she laughed.

  “They’re so soft,” she said. “And beautiful. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

  Slowly, carefully, I lifted them away from my back, unfurling them just enough to feel the night air move between the feathers. They were nothing like the ragged, bloody mess I remembered from my evolution. Perhaps because they had already been part of me.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “A little drained,” I said. “But they feel like another part of me.” I flexed them slightly. “They feel strong.”

  She nodded, circling me. “If you’re not too cold, we could measure them. Or test them a little.”

  I huffed softly. “Cold isn’t the issue. The horses are.” I glanced toward their sleeping forms. “Let’s measure. We’ll experiment later.”

  She glanced toward the exhausted animals, and nodded. "That's a good idea."

  I took a breath and focused. The wings shifted, reluctant at first, then certain, unfurling until the feathers brushed the night air on either side of me. The motion pulled at my shoulders and spine, settling my stance wider without conscious effort. When they reached their limit, my body found its balance.

  “Hold there,” Nadine said softly.

  I did. The wings stretched fully, each heavier than expected but comfortable, the tips just shy of the grass. I felt tension running through them, not strain so much as readiness.

  Nadine stepped back, eyes narrowed in concentration. She walked from one feathered tip to the other, heel to toe, counting under her breath. She had no tools. Just her steady, familiar stride, and practiced movements that told me this wasn't the first time she'd measured something like this. She reached the far end, turned, and paced it again to be sure.

  “About seventeen feet,” she said at last, a note of wonder slipping through her calm. “Give or take a little.”

  “That feels… right,” I said. I shifted slightly, testing the reach. The wings adjusted with me, correcting my balance by reflex.

  Nadine smiled, eyes sparkling. “They suit you.”

  I folded them back in, careful this time, aware of every movement. It felt as natural as opening and closing my hand. Not practiced, exactly, but understood.

  “Next time,” I said, glancing toward the dark outline of the field beyond the camp, “we’ll see what they can actually do.”

  She nodded. “Next time.”

  Ready to return to camp, another realization surfaced, one Nadine shared as our eyes drifted together to my neatly folded pile of clothing.

  “How are you with sewing?” I asked.

  If you enjoy stories that aren’t afraid to let the protagonist be unsettling, Mechanical Instinct is worth your time.