Chapter 26: Terms and Distance (Part 1 of 2)

  Laurent didn’t sign up immediately. He watched first.

  The board near the outer gate changed slowly, notices added and removed with little ceremony. Escort work appeared more often than anything else—short routes, modest pay, repeated listings that suggested reliability more than desperation.

  He waited until one of them stayed up for a second day.

  Supply escort. Two wagons. Three days out and back. Group assignment.

  The pay was enough. Not generous. Just sufficient.

  Laurent wrote his name beneath the others already listed. His hand didn’t shake.

  They met in the outer yard before dawn. No banners. No speeches. Just people gathering with the quiet efficiency of those who had done this before. Laurent counted them without meaning to—four guards, one handler, one driver, and himself.

  He was the youngest there. That wasn’t commented on.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  A man with a scar along his jaw spoke first. “Rules are simple,” he said. “Stay in formation. Don’t chase. Don’t freeze.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Laurent, then away. “If something charges,” the man continued, “you hold until told otherwise. If someone goes down, you pull them back. You don’t get clever.”

  Laurent nodded with the rest. No one asked what he could do. No one tested him. They didn’t care yet.

  The wagons rolled out as the sun cleared the horizon.

  The road was quiet. Too quiet, Laurent thought—but he kept that to himself. Trees thinned gradually as they moved, the landscape shifting from stone-lined paths to packed earth and scrub. The handler spoke occasionally, pointing out markers, warning signs Laurent didn’t recognize.

  He listened.

  The sword at his hip felt heavier than it had the night before. Not uncomfortable. Just present.

  They stopped once to rest. One of the guards glanced at Laurent. “First time?”

  “Yes.”

  The man nodded. “Everyone remembers theirs.” That was all he said.

  By midday, Laurent realized something unsettling.

  He wasn’t afraid. Not yet.

  His body felt ready—alert, responsive, coiled with strength earned over weeks of pain and repetition. He walked easily, breathing steady, senses sharp in a way they hadn’t been before.

  This feels manageable, he thought.

  The realization should have worried him more than it did.

  They made camp as the light faded, setting watch in pairs. Laurent took the second shift, sitting with his back to a tree, eyes scanning shadows that refused to stay still. The forest breathed around them. He told himself that was normal.

  That night passed without incident. So did the next morning. And as they packed up to continue, Laurent felt something settle in his chest—not fear, not excitement. Expectation. He didn’t yet understand how dangerous that was.