The ridge never quite lost its chill, but the sun's climb turned the mist to pearled dew and bleached the sky a shy, trustworthy blue. Evan stepped from the tunnel mouth and let the light rest on his face a heartbeat longer than usual. For once, the rush to avenge and to fortify did not claw at him the moment his boots met the grass.
He and Sura had already seen to the trip-lines: slate splinters wedged under tension along sheep tracks, their edges sharp enough to crack at the brush of a boot. They had walked the western slope together, sharing a quiet joke each time they encountered an old trap too rusted to be of any use. By mid-morning the outer ring was secure again, and a hush settled over the valley, no distant iron, no echoing horn, just wind in heather and the whirr of skylarks lifting off sun-warmed rocks.
Sura chose the hollow below the boulder field to gather herbs. Cleavers for poultices, rosemary for cooking, a fistful of bright yellow tansy she could dry against mosquitoes.
Evan shadowed her standing behind her, not out of suspicion now, but because the tilt of her head, as she scanned the undergrowth, reminded him of the scout training grounds at Dalewood: the same laser-sharp focus, the same tendency to hum under her breath when she spotted something useful.
And yet Evan couldn't help but stare at her long nape exposed with her copper hair draped aside on her shoulder. Her nape drenched in sweat shimmering under the morning sun dazed him. He couldn't help but have an urge to lean in.
"Hmph, stop staring so hard," she complained as she pushed her dangling hair behind her ears exposing the red blood rushing to her cheeks dying them crimson.
With a whimper of annoyance followed by humming under her breath as she spotted useful insects, she chose to ignore whatever mischief Evan was planning.
"Found you," she whispered to a stubborn sprig of meadowsweet lodged between two stones. As she pried it free, Evan's hand brushed over her back to steady her. The touch lasted half a breath—long enough for Sura to glance over her shoulder, cheeks warming before she straightened with the trophy held high.
"Medic victories," she declared. "Essential for morale."
"Then allow me a tactical assist," Evan said, plucking the stubborn root that had resisted her and tucking it into her satchel. Their fingers met; neither hurried the parting, only shimmering eyes flickering each other's reflections.
By noon they were back inside the Hollow's façade, the abandoned quarter that doubled as a makeshift stable. The pony recently named Molly in a moment of Sura's dry humour chewed contentedly at its hay net. Evan combed the pony's shaggy neck while Sura assembled lunch: soft rice, carrot-laden stew kept hot beneath the stove blanket, and slivers of salted pork re-warmed on a flat stone.
They ate cross-legged on a faded blanket under the roof slit, sunlight turning Sura's hair a fiery bronze. Between bites she sprinkled coarse salt onto Evan's wrist and dared him to taste it, "Concentrated electrolytes," she told him with mock seriousness.
He licked the grain but ignored the bracing sensation. Reaching out for it he grabbed Sura's hand that served him the electrolytes and licked it clean ending the event with a smirk followed by a wink.
"Eww!"
Disgusted by his behaviour Sura delivered a playful shove that tipped his bowl, prompting a scramble to rescue every last grain of rice.
"Waste is treason," Sura intoned, quoting an old field maxim.
"Then punish me if I am guilty," Evan answered, thumb brushing a solitary grain from her lower lip. She pretended to bite his finger; he withdrew it just in time, and they dissolved into laughter that bounced off stone and wood alike.
Bellies satisfied, they moved to the long table. Evan laid out a large map covering the entire table with each detail in its hand-drawn, and meticulously labeled. Evan pulled out a black charcoal nub from within his pocket as he pointed at a spot in the center of the map.
"We keep circling the same thought," he said, drawing a new line that snaked west toward the forgotten river port of Fairhaven. "If the mole's orders originated higher than the Concord's local command, we need correspondence, not rumors. Fairhaven's customs house stores manifest for a decade."
Sura traced the route with her index finger, knuckles brushing against his. "Don't be so sure. How are you pinpointing that the mole deals with the Fairhaven? The cipher we were told to retrieve is the key. What does it unlock? Why would the mole's client or anyone else be interested in it? Have you ever thought of these?"
Every question rained like a thunderstorm in Evan's ears. He had no answer to any of those. For the first time, he realized how little importance he played in this mystery.
"I too wanted to know what I am risking my life for," Evan folded his folded into a fist. "But I was told to follow Miam's orders without questions. And so, I did. Followed them to her dying breath, even the last one she made before passing away. And that's what got me into this mess."
Evan's body shook in hunger and helplessness as he closed his eyes trying to calm himself down. He felt a warm sensation on his fists as Sura wrapped them in her palms.
"You don't need to blame yourself for everything. Some things are just beyond our, control," she said, "And I have something to confess."
Evan opened his eyes, unwounded his fist, and turned his palms turning upwards only to clasp Sura's hands within his, their fingers crossing. He turned towards her staring into her eyes.
"I might not know who the mole is, but I do know about this client and what they were after. What does the cipher mean and also why would the Concord go to such lengths to kill us."