Zephyr Riddle's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

Zephyr watched the flame flicker in the window for three minutes before he heard the scrape of boots on stone below. Too soon. Aldric shouldn't have spotted the signal yet — not unless someone had already pointed him this way. He descended the ladder and found muddy footprints leading through the windmill entrance, fresh enough that water still pooled in the deepest treads. The spacing was uneven — someone moving fast or hurt. Zephyr followed the trail outside and spotted a rocking chair positioned thirty yards away beneath a twisted oak, facing the windmill. Empty. But the grass around it was flattened in a way that said someone had been sitting there recently, watching. His pulse kicked up. The chair was a message: we know you're here. Zephyr circled back and found the tent on the windmill's far side, half-buried in vines like it had been there for years. The fabric was newer than the moss suggested. He pulled back the flap and found Aldric Thornwood inside, conscious but bleeding through a makeshift bandage on his shoulder. The man's eyes locked on Zephyr with sharp recognition. "Your signal works," Aldric said. "So does theirs. They wanted me to find you." Zephyr tied off the fresh bandage and watched Aldric's breathing steady. The refuge plan had just changed — he'd wanted one trustworthy person before acting on the granary, and now he had one who'd been used as bait. But Aldric had come anyway, wounded and knowing he was followed, which answered a question Zephyr hadn't asked out loud. Trust wasn't about safety. It was about what someone did when safety wasn't an option. "We move the location," Zephyr said. "Tomorrow. The granary's still clean, and now I know you won't lead them there even if they're on your heels." Aldric nodded once, and Zephyr felt the weight shift from possibility to commitment.