Zuko wakes to dawn bleeding pale through the trees, the air damp with dew. Fire. Bandits. Rumors would be swirling by now.

  And if there are any Fire Nation troops in the area, they’ll be coming for the prisoner. For… Teorin.

  He glances toward the tree. Teorin hasn’t moved, wrists raw, breathing too shallow. Zuko pushes to his feet, jaw tight. He reaches for the rope, meaning to yank it hard enough to jolt Teorin awake, then hesitates. The cut on his arm looks worse in the morning light. If it gets infected—

  He can’t have him die. Not after dragging him through the forest for two days. Not before Zuko gets anything useful out of him.

  Instead, Zuko carefully unties the prisoner from the tree.

  “Get up,” he says, making his voice flat.

  Teorin shudders for a moment, then blinks up at him blearily. Teorin’s strange creature makes a mewling sound, but he doesn’t move.

  Zuko jerks the rope. “I said up.”

  After a moment, Teorin manages to sit up straighter, slow and unsteady, his hands trembling against the dirt. He still has the nerve to rasp, “You starve someone for two days, and then you’re shocked when he’s not quick on his feet?”

  Zuko ignores the jab, mostly because the rasp beneath it says more than the words. He shoulders his bag, forcing his expression flat. They can’t linger. Not now.

  “We can’t stay here,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Those bandits saw you airbend. That’s not the sort of thing that stays a rumor.”

  Teorin exhales shakily. “Fine. Just don’t expect me to march.” He tries to push to his feet and immediately lists to the side, knees giving out.

  Zuko swears under his breath and grabs Teorin’s arm before he hits the ground. The prisoner… is this a trick to throw him off like that first night? But the way Teorin is trembling…

  Zuko scowls, but he doesn’t let go as he pulls Teorin forward, keeping him upright.

  “Didn’t realize kidnapping came with escort service,” Teorin mutters.

  “Shut up,” Zuko snaps as he drags Teorin forward until the man can manage enough balance to stumble along on his own.

  Teorin’s breath rattles through his lungs. Each step is a slog. His throat feels like sandpaper, his stomach clenches with emptiness. The forest blurs at the edges. Still, he keeps moving—because the alternative is proving the Firebender right.

  Cat follows along behind them.

  His captor’s gaze flicks to him more than once. The rope in his hand isn’t tight. Not anymore. Loose enough that Teorin could pull away, if he had the strength, but he doesn’t.

  The rope tugs sharp as the boy pushes forward, pace relentless. Teorin stumbles after him, every step heavier than the last. His mouth is dry, his head swimming. His lips feel like they will crack open and start bleeding.

  “Water,” he croaks.

  His captor doesn’t look back. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the trail ahead.

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  “Please.” The word scrapes raw. “I’m not asking for—just… water.”

  For a heartbeat, the boy almost stops. Almost. His hand twitches near the canteen at his belt, but then his mouth hardens. He jerks his gaze away and keeps walking.

  They keep going. Teorin keeps forcing one foot in front of the other even as his vision spins, and his head feels light. His feet aren’t moving right anymore, not really. His head orders one thing, but his legs refuse to obey, buckling. The ground tilts violently, and the world cuts out.

  Zuko tries to keep his gaze firmly ahead. It’s better that way. For both of them.

  Then the rope goes slack.

  Zuko wheels around, eyes widening despite himself. Teorin lies crumpled in the dirt, face pale, chest heaving shallow breaths. For a moment, Zuko stands frozen, torn between fury and guilt and something he refuses to name.

  Teorin’s creature bumps his head against the brown hair that’s now dusted with dirt, but Teorin doesn’t respond.

  Finally, Zuko kneels, shooing away the odd creature, who yowls. He presses two fingers under Teorin’s jaw. A pulse. Weak, but steady. Relief flashes sharp and ugly through him.

  “Idiot,” he mutters, but his hands shake as he fumbles the canteen free, and tips it. Water trickles past cracked lips. Most of it spills down Teorin’s chin, soaking into the collar of his jacket. A faint swallow answers him, but Teorin doesn’t wake.

  Spirits! There’s no time for this! He should leave the boy here. Someone could already be searching for them. If word got out he had an Airbender prisoner… He should keep moving. Should—

  But for some reason, he can’t make himself leave.

  Move. They have to move. Zuko slings Teorin’s arm over his shoulder, heaving him upright. The extra weight drags at his already-tired body, but Zuko grits his teeth and pushes forward. Each step feels slower, heavier, but he doesn’t stop. Because if he does, if he leaves Teorin behind, then what’s the point of any of this?

  The forest swallows them again, greens and golds filtering down onto the small animal trail through the trees. One staggering step at a time, Zuko plows forward.

  “Decided to carry me?” Teorin mutters finally, voice slurred but faintly amused.

  Zuko curses under his breath.

  “Don’t know that word,” Teorin mumbles, his head lolling against Zuko’s shoulder, “but it seems like an angry one.”

  “Shut up,” Zuko snaps. His grip tightens, but his legs are already shaking.

  They stumble another dozen paces before Zuko’s knees nearly buckle. With a hiss of frustration, he lowers Teorin back against the nearest tree. Sweat runs down his temple. His chest heaves.

  Cat vaults into Teorin’s lap. Teorin rests a hand on him.

  “You’re too heavy,” Zuko growls.

  “Six-one,” Teorin slurs, eyelids fluttering. “And I work out.”

  Zuko glares, caught between throttling him and laughing at the sheer audacity. The words don’t quite make sense, but the attitude is clear enough. He settles for shoving the canteen against Teorin’s chest instead. “Drink. Or next time I really will leave you.”

  But when Teorin’s fingers fumble too weakly at the cap, Zuko sighs and twists it open himself, pressing it to Teorin’s lips.

  Teorin swallows greedily, water spilling down his chin.

  Zuko yanks the canteen back, and Teorin flinches.

  “Slowly, or you’ll just vomit,” Zuko says stiffly.

  Teorin looks so relieved that Zuko almost doesn’t lift the canteen again, but they need to move. He needs Teorin mobile. Reluctantly, he raises the canteen, and Teorin obeys, sipping slowly. After a few sips, he turns his head aside, breath ragged. His voice is hoarse but steady enough. “I can’t live on water, you know.”

  Zuko’s jaw tightens. He knows. His pack is light, the few scraps of dried meat already rationed tight. He should say nothing. Should keep Teorin weak, compliant.

  Instead, his hand hovers at the flap of the pack. But… Teorin is dangerous. He proved that the first night.

  “Then starve,” Zuko mutters, forcing himself to pull back. But the words taste sour in his mouth, and Teorin’s steady gaze makes them sound even hollower.

  “Hey, hothead,” Teorin says.

  Zuko stiffens. “Don’t call me that.”

  Teorin snorts. “Tell me your name, and I’ll call you that instead.”

  “No.”

  Teorin sighs. “Fine. You see any birds circling near here?”

  Zuko frowns. “Birds?”

  “I’m not an Airbender,” Teorin says, voice thin but steady. “They bend what’s around them. I store pressure inside me. I burned through too much.” He shifts against the tree, eyes flicking toward Zuko. “You want me to walk? I can walk. At full strength, I could probably carry you for hours.”

  His lips twitch, almost a smirk. “But I need pressure. Now. Birds circling usually means a shift in air pressure. That’s what I’m looking for.”

  Zuko stares at him. The words are half threat, half plea, and it’s the confidence that rankles. Even beaten, bound, and half-starved, he talks like strength is only one breath away.

  And the worst part? Zuko believes him.

  Maybe Teorin really isn’t an Airbender, but that makes him even more valuable.

  Which means now, on top of everything else, he has to keep one eye on the sky for circling birds—and make sure they never get close.