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Snow charged into the Trueflame Tribe’s encampment, crossed the perimeter, and knelt before the flame.
Li Yuan swung down and sat cross‑legged; she collapsed beside him, covered in ice from head to toe. The fire softened her limbs. His own shadow blood stirred, rank climbing back seventh, sixth, and finally fifth rank. The cracks in his palm opened, bled, and sealed again.
“We’re still alive,” Snow panted. “Whoever it was—”
Li Yuan clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, “Not a word.”
He rolled his neck, stood, and stared through the aisles of tents toward the entrance.
No one was there, but he knew the patrols and scavengers would be returning soon. So he stood by the bonfire, warming his hands, and watched. People drifted back from the dark, but none bore the spectral...
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