Dawn found them five miles from the Crossroads, exhausted and hiding in an abandoned mill.
Cassian hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Threads—millions of them, connecting everything, pulsing with meaning he couldn't quite grasp. It was like having a constant headache made of light.
"You look terrible," Nara said, offering him a piece of dried meat from her pack.
"Thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel special."
She smirked. "Honesty is one of my best qualities."
"What are the others?"
"I'm an excellent cook, I can track anything, and I once killed a basilisk with nothing but a rope and bad attitude." Nara tore off a chunk of meat with her teeth. "Also, I look great in leather armor."
Despite everything, Cassian laughed. "Modest too."
"Modesty is overrated."
Zephyr was perched on a broken water wheel, sketching something in a notebook. She'd been muttering to herself all morning—percentages, probabilities, possible futures branching like trees.
"Are you always like this?" Cassian asked her.
"Like what?"
"Seeing the future constantly. Doesn't it drive you crazy?"
Zephyr looked up, her black eyes focusing on him. "It did. For the first year after I became an Oracle, I couldn't distinguish present from future. Lived in all timelines simultaneously. Nearly starved because I couldn't remember if I'd already eaten or just saw myself eating."
"That's horrifying."
"It was educational." She went back to her sketching. "You learn to filter eventually. Focus on the present, check the futures only when needed. Like having a book you can peek at but don't have to read every page."
Nara stood and stretched, joints popping. "We should move soon. Staying in one place too long is asking for trouble."
"Agreed," Zephyr said. "But first, Cassian needs a lesson."
Cassian blinked. "A lesson in what?"
"Not dying." Zephyr hopped down from the water wheel. "Your power is incredible, but right now it controls you. Every time you use it, you nearly pass out. That's because you're letting it flood through you instead of directing it."
"I don't know how to direct it."
"That's why it's called a lesson." Zephyr gestured to a pile of stones in the corner. "See those rocks? I want you to move one. Just one. Without touching it."
"How?"
"Use the Threads. See the connection between the rock and the ground. Then gently—and I emphasize gently—convince the Thread that the rock wants to be somewhere else."
Cassian stared at the rocks. "That doesn't make sense."
"Divine power rarely does. Try anyway."
Nara leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with interest.
Cassian focused on the rocks. At first, he saw nothing. Then, gradually, the Threads appeared—thin lines of gray-brown connecting stone to earth, stone to air, stone to the fundamental concept of weight and mass.
He reached out mentally, feeling for the Thread. Found it. It felt solid, immutable, like trying to bend steel.
"Don't force it," Zephyr said quietly. "Ask it. Threads respond to will, not strength."
Cassian tried again, this time imagining the Thread as something flexible. Please, he thought. Just move a little.
The rock wobbled.
Then exploded.
Fragments of stone peppered the mill. Nara ducked. Zephyr didn't move—she'd apparently seen this outcome.
"Too much pressure," Zephyr said calmly. "Try again."
"I could have killed someone!"
"But you didn't. I checked. Now try again."
Six rocks later, Cassian managed to levitate one for three seconds before dropping it. He was sweating and his hands shook, but he'd done it. Controlled power. Deliberate, measured, intentional.
"Better," Zephyr said. "At this rate, you'll have basic control in a month."
"A month?" Cassian groaned. "I nearly passed out moving a rock."
"Which is progress. Yesterday you would have actually passed out." Zephyr packed her notebook. "Small victories, Threadbreaker. They add up."
Nara pushed off the wall. "Touching moment, but we really need to move. I heard something in the woods ten minutes ago."
"You heard something and didn't mention it?" Cassian demanded.
"You were learning. Didn't want to interrupt." She drew her daggers. "Now I'm interrupting. We need to go."
They gathered their minimal supplies and slipped out the back of the mill. The forest was thick here, old-growth trees that blocked out most of the morning sun.
"What did you hear?" Zephyr whispered.
"Footsteps. Too light for humans. Too coordinated for animals."
"Duskblades?"
"Worse." Nara's expression was grim. "I think it's a Huntsman."
Cassian had no idea what that meant, but Zephyr's face went pale.
"We need to run," the Oracle said. "Right now."
They ran.
Behind them, something howled—a sound that was part wolf, part human, part something that should never exist.
The hunt had found them again.
But this time, Cassian had learned something new: he could fight back.
The question was whether it would be enough.