The forest tightened around us.
Not visibly—no branches shifting, no sudden movement—but in the way sound thinned, the way even the birds seemed to reconsider their business. The Coast Way curved gently through scrub and trees, the ground uneven with roots and stone, the air carrying that faint, metallic tang that always seemed to precede trouble.
That was when the bear stepped into view.
It wasn't charging.
Wasn't roaring.
Just there.
Black fur caught the light in dull patches, massive shoulders rolling once as it shifted its weight. Its head lifted slowly, eyes dark and assessing—not angry, not yet. As if deciding whether we were worth the effort.
Neutral.
The word surfaced unbidden, useless but insistent.
Imoen sucked in a breath beside me. Xzar leaned forward, interest lighting his face in a way that had nothing to do with fear. The bear huffed low, a warning sound that vibrated through the ground.
Montaron didn't hesitate.
Steel cleared leather with a harsh, final sound.
"And the river runs red!"
He lunged.
The moment shattered.
Imoen cried out as the bear reared, sudden and enormous, the ground seeming to lurch beneath its weight. Xzar laughed—sharp and breathless—as he yanked a dart free and sent it snapping through the air. Then another. Thin shafts vanished into black fur, irritating more than stopping.
Everything happened at once.
The bear's paw slammed down where Montaron had been a heartbeat earlier. Bark exploded from a nearby tree. My heart slammed into my ribs—
—and something else rose with it.
A pressure.
A rhythm.
Not sound. Not exactly. More like a familiar urgency threading through my thoughts, pulling everything tight, compressing the world until it felt brittle. A pattern I didn't have a name for—one that only ever surfaced when things were already spiraling too fast to fix.
Too fast.
Too many moving pieces.
No time.
Someone was going to get hurt.
The realization hit all at once, sharp enough to steal my breath.
And the world—
caught.
Not stopped.
Held.
The bear hung mid-motion, one foreleg lifted, muscle bunched and terrible in its restraint. Montaron's blade was frozen inches from fur, his weight pitched forward, fully committed to a strike he could no longer adjust. Imoen's foot hovered above the ground, twisted wrong, panic still written across her face. Xzar's arm was cocked back, another dart pinched between his fingers, his grin locked in place.
They weren't statues.
They were trapped.
My breath came shallow. The pressure in my head thickened—not painful, not yet—but dense, like air before a storm breaks. My heart still raced. I could feel it everywhere.
This wasn't safety.
This was exposure.
A thought surfaced, unwelcome and cold:
If I get hit…
I didn't finish it.
I didn't need to.
I looked at the bear's claws. At the distance between us. At the way its weight was already shifting toward where I had been standing.
Time hadn't erased consequence.
It had only let me see it coming.
My hand went to my side on instinct—and closed on leather.
I froze.
The bow.
I hadn't thought about it since before roads and blood and choices that mattered. My fingers fumbled at the strap, clumsy, uncertain. The weapon felt wrong in my hands—too light, too unfamiliar.
I could almost hear my gym teacher's voice from years ago, flat with practiced patience.
You're dropping your elbow.
You're rushing the shot.
Again.
I swallowed.
I wasn't good with it.
I'd never been good with it.
Charging the bear would be suicide. Shouting wouldn't stop momentum already in motion. Montaron was committed. Xzar was already too close to something he didn't understand.
I didn't need to win.
I needed to change something.
I looked to the edge of the clearing, where the ground dipped slightly and the trees thinned into shadow. If I moved there—if I pulled its attention for even a heartbeat—
My chest tightened.
That would put me closer.
Too close.
"I don't want this," I whispered.
Then I moved.
The world snapped back into motion.
Sound crashed in all at once—roaring breath, splintering wood, Montaron shouting as steel rang hard against bone. Pain flared as I hit the ground harder than I meant to, knocking the breath from my lungs.
I didn't follow.
I stumbled sideways instead, boots skidding as I moved without grace toward the edge of the clearing, heart hammering hard enough to blur my vision. My hands shook as I tore the bow free, the strap catching once before giving way.
My fingers found the string. Missed. Found it again. I drew back, heart hammering, the tension feeling wrong—too light, too easy.
For a heartbeat, it felt like it might actually work.
The line steadied.
The bear shifted.
Montaron's back filled my sight—
"Gods," Montaron barked mid-swing, eyes flicking just long enough to register me. "Grow a spine and shoot it!"
I loosed.
The arrow snapped forward—
—and buried itself cleanly into Montaron's boot.
There was a sharp, unmistakable thunk.
Montaron howled.
He stumbled, weight shifting just enough that the bear's next swipe tore past where his head had been a moment earlier. Blood darkened the leather at his foot, the arrow shaft trembling obscenely with the movement.
"What was that?" he roared, spinning toward me.
I stared back, horrified. "Warning shot?"
His reply was incoherent.
The bear roared again.
Imoen moved.
Whatever panic had seized her earlier burned away as she darted in low, fearless now, blade flashing as she drove it into the bear's side and ripped it free in one clean motion. The bear bellowed, pain finally overtaking confusion.
Montaron didn't give it time.
Shield slammed into ribs. Steel followed—hard, brutal—driven by fury more than finesse. The bear reeled—
—and then Xzar screamed something joyful and charged.
"I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO TRY THIS!"
He flung his last dart aside and slammed both hands into the bear's flank.
Light erupted.
The smell of burned fur filled the air. The bear convulsed, muscles locking as the shock tore through it, the sound it made somewhere between a roar and a whine.
Montaron finished it.
The bear collapsed, the forest rushing back in around the sudden absence of violence.
Silence followed.
Montaron stood over the body, chest heaving, blade still raised. After a long moment, he lowered it and snapped the broken arrow shaft off at his boot, testing his weight.
A faint wince escaped him.
"That thing's the size of a wagon," Montaron growled. "And ye managed to hit my foot."
"I was aiming for the bear."
"Aye," he said flatly. "That's the problem."
Imoen laughed, wiping her blade clean. "At least it wasn't your leg."
"Comforting."
Xzar crouched near the bear, eyes shining. "The sensation was remarkable," he said dreamily. "So immediate."
"Don't," Montaron warned.
Xzar smiled wider. "Don't what?"
"Don't do that again."
I shifted, suddenly aware of how tight my shoulders felt. "So… is that how fights usually go?"
"No," Montaron said. "Usually there's less friendly fire."
I exhaled. "That's fair."
Imoen nudged me lightly as she passed. "You didn't freeze."
That didn't feel like much.
Montaron turned away, scanning the treeline. "We move," he said. "And next time—commit. Hesitation kills faster than bad aim."
Then he walked.
We followed.