Mae's legs finally forced the decision.
The relentless run had drained both women past the point of sustainable pace. Ylva, even with the revitalizing draught still working through her system, carried the twins and the residual weight of a body that had nearly died giving birth. Mae bore the older child and the accumulated strain of guiding them through ruined streets while watching every shadow. They slowed, then stopped in the partial cover of a collapsed storefront, breathing hard, listening for pursuit that had not yet come.
The luminous thread stretching back from the older baby's hand remained active. It did not waver or fade. It simply held its line, a quiet, stubborn connection pointing the way they had come.
Mae looked down at the child. "She's not letting go."
