Morning came sharp and cold.
Not the gentle kind that eases you awake—this one bit straight through cloth and skin like it had somewhere better to be. Frost clung to the rocks, thin and glittering, and the fire from the night before had given up sometime while I slept.
I sat up slowly, testing my legs.
They answered.
Sore. Tight. But moving.
"…Good," I muttered. "Still attached."
Porlyusica was already awake, crouched near the edge of our camp, eyes scanning the valley below. She hadn't lit a fire yet. Smart. Smoke traveled too far in this cold.
I followed her gaze.
Tracks.
Fresh.
Not monsters.
People.
"…They came back," I whispered.
"Yes," she said. "And closer."
Below us, near the basin we'd avoided yesterday, shapes moved through the snow. Three this time. Maybe four. Cloaks pulled tight, weapons visible but not drawn. One of them was kneeling again, scraping snow away from stone with impatient movements.
Too impatient.
"He's going to ruin it," I muttered.
Porlyusica's eyes sharpened. "Which means he's near it."
My breath hitched—not excitement, not fear. Focus.
"…So the plant is here," I said.
"Near here," she corrected. "And still buried."
I nodded. "Good."
She gave me a sideways look. "You're not shaking."
I glanced down at my hands.
They were red from the cold. Stiff.
But not numb.
"…Huh," I said again. "That's happening more often."
Porlyusica didn't answer immediately. She reached out and pressed two fingers lightly against my wrist, then my forearm.
Her frown deepened.
"You should be colder," she said flatly.
"I'm trying," I replied. "Winter's just not impressed."
She released me and stood. "You're compensating again. Muscles staying warm by overworking."
"…Is that bad-bad, or just bad?"
She looked at me for a long moment.
"Bad if you ignore it," she said. "Fatal if you push through it."
That sobered me fast.
We moved.
Not down into the basin. Sideways. Around.
Porlyusica led, steps light, deliberate. I followed exactly where she placed her feet—no shortcuts, no rushing. The slope steepened, snow thinning into slick frost-coated stone.
Halfway across, my boot slipped.
Not far. Not dangerous.
But my body reacted.
Too fast.
I corrected before my foot fully lost purchase—but heat flared up my leg immediately, sharp and warning. I sucked in a breath and froze in place.
Porlyusica stopped instantly.
"Don't," she said.
"I'm not," I replied, teeth clenched. "I'm… reconsidering my life choices."
She came back to me, hands firm on my shoulders, forcing me to stay still.
"Weight back," she instructed. "Slow."
I obeyed.
The pain dulled, retreating into a deep ache instead of a spike.
She exhaled slowly. "That was the line."
I swallowed. "The what?"
"The point where your body starts paying interest," she said. "Every time you cross it, the cost doubles."
I nodded once. "…Noted."
She didn't scold me.
Worse—she looked concerned.
We finished the crossing carefully. When we reached stable ground, my leg trembled once before settling.
I stayed standing.
Barely.
The basin lay below us now, closer than before.
Between two boulders, half-hidden by snow and shadow, something dark pressed through the frost.
Not dead.
Waiting.
Porlyusica crouched slowly, eyes locked on it.
"…There," she said softly.
My breath caught.
The plant wasn't pretty. Thick, dark stem. Leaves curled tight like they were guarding something precious. Snow around it was thinner, ground cracked just slightly where heat from below refused to fully freeze.
"…It's real," I whispered.
"Yes."
I shifted forward instinctively.
Her hand shot out and stopped me.
"Not yet."
"…Why not?"
She glanced down at my leg. "Because you won't make it back."
That hit harder than any monster.
I clenched my jaw. "I can—"
"No," she cut in. "You could reach it. You couldn't leave."
I looked back toward the ridge.
It was farther than it looked.
And my leg was already screaming quietly.
"…So we wait," I said.
She nodded. "We mark it. We come back prepared."
I hesitated. "…And them?" I nodded toward the searchers below.
Porlyusica's gaze hardened. "They don't know what they're holding yet."
As if on cue, one of the men below yanked too hard at a patch of snow-covered stone.
A sharp crack echoed.
The ground shifted.
"Idiot," Porlyusica muttered.
The man stumbled back as the stone slab slid, revealing nothing but frozen dirt beneath.
"No plant!" he shouted angrily.
The group argued, voices rising, then moved off again—frustrated, empty-handed.
I exhaled slowly.
"…That was close."
"Yes," she said. "And it will be closer next time."
We retreated uphill as the light faded, slower than before.
By the time we reached camp, my leg was done pretending.
I sank down hard, breath uneven.
Porlyusica knelt immediately, hands pressing along muscle and joint, assessing damage.
"…You pushed too far today," she said.
"I stopped when you said," I replied weakly.
"Yes," she admitted. "…That's why you're not worse."
She helped me stretch carefully, movements precise. Pain flared, then eased.
"You're learning," she said quietly. "That's the dangerous part."
I looked up at her. "…Because I'll want to try again?"
"Yes," she replied. "Because next time, you'll think you know where the line is."
I snorted. "Bold of you to assume I ever learn that fast."
She huffed. "Rest."
I did.
That night, I wrote with shaky hands.
Found it. Too early to take it.
Body reacted faster than ground allowed.
Stopped before breaking. Barely.
Competition nearby. They'll return.
I paused, then added:
Being slower saved me today.
I closed the notebook.
Outside, the wind shifted.
Winter wasn't done with us yet.
And neither were the people searching the snow.