The Thinman was not a random enemy.
He was a faction seed.
If he survived, the faction survived.
If the faction survived, the kidnapping chain found a way.
Aurelia became a hostage event.
The continent fractured.
The demon contract was dangerous.
Predictable.
The Thinman was the keystone.
Sylara glanced at Draven as they walked. Her eyes were sharp now, not playful.
"You're not hunting him like this is new," she said quietly, so the wind could steal the words.
Draven didn't answer.
Sylara continued anyway, voice lower.
"You're hunting him like you've hunted him before."
Draven's reply was clipped.
"Later."
Sylara's mouth tightened.
"Not here," Draven added.
"Not with ears."
Sylara's gaze flicked up to the sky.
Raëdrithar circled.
Then her gaze flicked back down the ridge where lanterns swayed.
Ears.
She swallowed whatever she wanted to say.
That was new.
Growth.
It didn't make her gentle.
It made her dangerous in a more useful way.
