Later, when most of the camp had settled, Elara and Felix walked the upper stockade. The midsummer stars were thick overhead. The river ran quieter now, the worst of the melt past.
"She's holding," Felix said. "But whatever touched her is still in the forest. You felt it too."
"Yes." Elara kept her voice low. "The mark is the same. The dreams. The wolves refusing that stretch of trees. It's not the old corruption. Something else woke when the land settled after the shrine fell."
Felix was quiet for a while. "You always go toward the pain. Even when it costs you sleep and strength. I won't tell you to stop. Just don't go alone."
She looked at him. The quiet understanding between them had grown through long hours of shared work and the kind of silence that did not need filling. "I won't. Not this time."
