Mile marker fourteen was a stone post on the northern road's eastern shoulder, weathered to the point of illegibility except for the carved number that someone had cut deep enough to survive a century of northern winters.
They reached it at seven in the morning.
The remote unit was already waiting.
Not a raised human this time — a construct, roughly humanoid, assembled from materials Kael didn't immediately identify and held together by the particular quality of a Necromancer's will operating at long range. Level 44 expressed through craftsmanship rather than power — precise, efficient, built for function rather than impression.
It carried a satchel.
It held the satchel out when Kael approached and then stood completely still, the remote operation apparently limited to delivery rather than conversation.
He took the satchel.
