They rode through the night without stopping, trading the horses' pace for whatever speed the animals could safely give, Rama half convinced the whole way that every dark stretch of road hid something reaching for them. Surya said little after that first warning, his crystal arm held rigid against his chest, jaw set in the grim silence of a man listening to something he wished he couldn't hear.
"Tell me the moment it changes again," Rama said, not for the first time. "Anything. Calmer, louder, closer, farther. I need to know."
"It's been the same for an hour," Surya said. "Watching. Not pushing anymore, just watching, the way you'd watch a door you already know how to open whenever you decide it's worth the trouble." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know how I know that. I just do. Whatever's in this arm understands the thing that's hunting your daughter better than either of us, and it won't tell me why."
