Morning came late to Preta. The mist took its time leaving, curling through the fields like something unwilling to die. The camp was already awake: bows creaking, orders shouted, boots grinding the frost into mud. Smoke drifted from the cooking fires, sharp with wood and iron and the faint smell of oats gone slightly burnt.

  Aros walked through it all in silence. The soldiers nodded when he passed, but he hardly noticed them. He had the look of a man who'd been awake long enough to forget what sleep felt like.

  Near the fence by the stables, Digiera sat with one leg over the rail, knife in hand, scraping at the edge of the blade. She didn't look up until he stopped beside her.

  "You look like you've been thinking again," she said."

  Is that a crime now?"

  "Not yet," she said, smiling faintly. "But if you keep doing it this early, I might start a petition."

  The knife flashed as she tested the edge. "So, what's eating you?""

  The plan," Aros said. "It's too loud."

  "Loud gets remembered."

  "Loud gets people killed...our people."

  Digiera gave a quiet laugh, tossing a splinter of wood aside. "You ever notice how everyone you like ends up dead anyway? Maybe noise isn't the problem."

  Aros gave her a look that wasn't quite anger but close. "You think I'm being cautious."

  "I think you're being yourself," she said. "You never start a fight unless you already know how it ends. That's not caution. That's cowardice wearing a pretty face."

  He frowned, but there was no heat behind it.

  "That's a Stupid way to see it. You sound like Talon.""Then maybe you should start listening."

  The yard filled with the dry sound of arrows striking straw. The rhythm was almost comforting, almost peaceful. Aros stayed there for a moment longer, watching a young archer readjust his stance, then started walking again. Digiera's voice followed him."Don't forget," she said. "Heroes and ghosts are made the same way, someone just remembers one longer."

  Talon was in the armory tent, sleeves rolled up, his hands blackened with oil. He was fitting bowstrings, testing them with small, deliberate pulls that made the tent canvas shudder. He didn't look up when Aros entered.

  "Digiera thinks you're right," Aros said."

  That's a first."

  "She says I'm afraid."

  "She's right again."

  Aros sat down on a crate. "You want me to lead men into Sbelto, one of the most guarded city in the region, to start a war inside a temple."{

  "I don't want you to," Talon said. "I need you to."

  He turned, holding a crossbow to the light, inspecting the grain of the stock."They've forgotten what resistance looks like," Talon said. "You know how easy it is to control people who've forgotten their anger?""I also know how easy it is to bury them," Aros replied.

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  Talon sighed, setting the weapon down. "I've seen you stand in front of fire before, Aros. Don't start flinching now. If you doubt this, they will too. You're the spine of this place."

  "I'm tired of being the spine," Aros muttered.

  "Then at least don't be the wound," Talon said, softer now. "We can't afford another."

  Aros looked at him for a long time, then gave a small nod. It wasn't agreement, not really. More like surrender to something inevitable.

  Outside, the camp had begun to quiet. A few soldiers had moved toward the kitchens, and somewhere beyond the tents, someone was singing, off-key, but sincere. The normality of it all felt wrong.

  By the infirmary, Candriela was wringing out a bandage over a bucket, her sleeves rolled past her elbows. The water was pink with blood, and she was humming something tuneless.

  "You should be resting," she said without looking up.

  "I could say the same."

  "I don't sleep much," she said. "Too many ghosts walking around this camp."

  Aros crouched beside her. "How's Gemma?"

  "She's learning how to shoot," Candriela said. "And pretending she's fine."

  "She told you that?"

  "She doesn't need to. She walks like someone carrying a silence too heavy for her size."

  Aros picked up a clean cloth and helped her wring it. "She'll be fine," he said.

  Candriela glanced at him. "You don't believe that."

  "I have to."

  She smiled faintly, tiredly. "You both keep trying to save things that don't want saving. Maybe that's why the Light picked you."

  He almost asked her what that meant, but she had already turned back to her work.

  When he finally found Gemma, she was in the field with Phillip, trying to mimic his stance. The boy had an easy grace to him, the kind that comes from never having had to earn it. He guided her aim, talking with a warmth that made her smile despite herself. The arrow went wide, but her laugh came easily.

  Phillip grinned. "Better. You'll be outshooting half the camp by next week."

  Gemma rolled her eyes. "You're a terrible liar."

  "Absolutely" he said.

  Aros stopped a few paces away, arms crossed. "Didn't realize we'd hired tutors now."

  Phillip turned, unruffled. "Just trying to be useful, Kingslayer. Not all of us can glower inspiration into people."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Aros said.

  The air between them tightened. Gemma sensed it and stepped in. "He's been helping me. That's all."

  Aros nodded once. "Then make sure he doesn't help too much."

  Phillip smirked. "I'll try not to corrupt her with optimism."

  Gemma sighed. "You two done measuring whatever it is you're measuring?"

  Phillip laughed, holding up his hands. "Fine, fine. I'll leave you to your gloom." He gave Gemma a small bow. "You're improving. Don't let him tell you otherwise."Then he walked away, humming something obnoxiously cheerful.

  When he was gone, Aros turned to her. "You trust him?"

  "He's kind," she said. "That's rare lately."

  "Kind isn't the same as safe."

  "Neither are you," she said, and walked ahead of him.

  He followed her through the rows of tents until they reached the edge of the camp, near the small shed where they kept spare tools and wood. The air smelled of sawdust and smoke."Wait here," he said.

  He went inside and returned with something wrapped in cloth. She looked at him, puzzled."What's this?""Open it."

  The fabric fell away, and she gasped. It was a bow, simple, dark, hand-carved. The handle was wrapped in leather, and faint carvings ran along the limbs like constellations. It wasn't elegant, but it was made with care.

  "You made this?" she asked.He nodded.

  "Took me a few nights."

  "Why?"

  "Because it's your birthday."

  She blinked. "You remembered?"

  "I remember the things I need to remember" he said.

  Gemma turned the bow in her hands, tracing the carved lines. "It's beautiful," she whispered."I was going to get you arrows too, but Broko said you'd lose them all before noon."She laughed, and for the first time in days, it sounded like her."He's probably right," she said."I know."

  They stood there, the silence between them soft for once. Outside, someone shouted an order, and the wind carried the smell of baking bread. It felt almost like peace.

  Aros leaned against the wall. "You'll be good with it. You always learn faster than you think."

  Gemma smiled, still looking at the bow. "Do you really believe that?"

  "I wouldn't have wasted good wood if I didn't."

  She looked up at him, and something in her chest eased. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome, kid."

  "I'm not a kid."

  "Thirteen still counts."

  Her laughter came quiet and warm. "You're impossible.""I've heard worse," he said.

  Aros turned toward the tents, ready to leave, but paused. "Keep it close tomorrow. We'll be moving at dawn."

  She nodded. When he was gone, she stayed there a while, running her thumb along the smooth edge of the bow. The carvings caught the light in thin lines of gold. She drew the string once, and it hummed faintly, a note low and uncertain, but alive.

  Gemma let out a slow breath. For the first time in weeks, the silence inside her didn't feel empty. It felt waiting.

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