For forty-five minutes, they moved through the thinning forest in silence.
Iris led with a carefully intentional pace. Not fast enough to leave him, not slow enough to help him. Just close enough to be seen with him, a testament to her Lockhart duty.
Behind her, Ronan followed, leaning on the walking stick of compacted ice she had formed. It was a crude tool, but it served its purpose..
At first, the silence was a relief. When he spoke, his gratitude was too loud, his attempts at humour were shameless, and his presence felt more like a burden than a companion.
But as the minutes stretched on, the silence itself grew its own sharp teeth. It was empty. Too empty.
Iris kept her eyes forward, but her focus drifted back to the man limping behind her. His injury had seemed real enough. The leg bent at an unnatural angle, the sharp intake of breath when he put weight on it, the strained mana circulation she had sensed when she first found him.
But the performance had flaws.
