The ocean seemed to laugh at them, a vast blue joke at their expense.
"We're turning east," Lyra announced, her voice cutting through the stunned silence on the ridge.
She didn't look at the others, just pointed at a narrow path that wound away from the shore, her finger steady as a compass needle. "No more circling back. No more getting pulled off course."
Apollo felt the relic shift in his pack, a subtle weight adjustment like a child turning away in protest.
The gold in his veins cooled instantly, a chill that spread from his core to his fingertips. His mouth went dry.
No one argued. Not Cale, who stood with his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
Not Renna, whose knuckles had gone white around her spear. Not even Nik, who for once seemed to have run out of clever remarks. There was something like relief in their collective silence, the comfort of having someone else make the hard choice.
