Lucian went first.
It was impossibly vast on the other side, this emptiness carved from air, stretched too far. A trace of containment clung to everything, frayed threads of motion, a clean absence where people had moved carefully enough to leave none of themselves behind. Marc came next, a hand raised to steady the tear, and Silas brought up the rear, jaw tight, eyes searching.
"Fresh," said Marc.
Lucian nodded. "Left it easy enough," he added. "Only slowed pursuers."
Silas flexed his good hand. "Then let's show them how fast we can follow."
They moved.
The landscape beyond the tear was desolate, cracked stone and low ridges under a dull sky, and the trail ran north-east in a narrow band of disturbed earth. It was easier to follow than find, an impression of pressure in his palm rather than marks on the ground. The people who'd taken them had been methodical about everything, including their care not to leave any trail.
