Hours after leaving the road, Jack and Kleo paused beside a narrow stream to rest and share a small meal. The forest had grown dense around them, but the towering trees and thick underbrush had given way to a quiet glade by a stream's edge.

  Kleo excused herself to step away, and Jack remained by the stream, respecting her privacy and mindful of their isolation. Deep in the wilderness with someone he barely knew, he was wary of any action that might create suspicion or mistrust. Once she returned, he’d seek his relief.

  He knew her name was Kleo, though he rarely used it. He had accidentally called her Chloe, and the fear of doing it a second time made him self-conscious, afraid he might embarrass himself again. Instead, he resorted to a simple “Hey” when he needed her attention. Kleo didn’t seem to mind.

  She was tall for a woman, almost level with him, and possessed a natural, unpolished beauty and an effortless grace. Her golden-brown hair often fell across her face, hiding intense blue eyes that seemed to hold secrets she had no intention of sharing. He could sense something guarded lingered beneath her calm exterior.

  He had caught her watching him more than once with a peculiar, focused stare. When he noticed, she’d close her eyes as if retreating to a private world. The intensity of her gaze unsettled him as though she were assessing him, studying him. To what end, he could not guess.

  They were strangers traveling a common path together; she was his guide. They spent the majority of their time lost in private thoughts. And yet, he felt the weight of her stare linger long after he looked away, almost as if he were prey under a predator’s watchful eye.

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  It was a feeling that was hard to shake.

  When she returned, Jack excused himself, leaving her by the stream, filling a water bag. The morning air, cool at dawn, had begun to warm as the sun rose higher.

  He returned to find her securing the water bag with a practiced hand, preparing to continue their journey. The creeping heat would make their travels more difficult, but Jack welcomed the promise of new experiences, even if it meant sweating through his clothes.

  Their destination was the village of Astiria—a place he had only ever heard of in whispers.

  To him, Astiria was more myth than reality. In the dim corners of Cabal’s taverns, old men tilted with too much drink would speak of it in strange, almost reverent tones. Their tales of Astiria were shadowed with mystery, tinged with awe and foreboding.

  He put little faith in the tales. People relished such stories, crafting the unknown into something tantalizing and strange. Jack was no exception; he always listened closely and was captivated by the legends.

  “Hey,” he ventured, choosing his words carefully. “Have you been to Astiria before? You seem to know the way, so I thought…” He trailed off, feeling self-conscious. Women often made him nervous, and Kleo had a presence that kept him even more on edge.

  “Yes,” she replied, lifting the water bag from the stream and securing it over her shoulder.

  He waited for her to elaborate, but she offered nothing more.

  “What’s it like?” he pressed, trying to keep his curiosity light.

  She paused as though searching for the right words. “Different,” she said at last.

  He waited again, hoping she might continue, but her silence was absolute.

  She reached down and, to his surprise, began tugging her shirt over her head. Jack took an awkward step back, startled and blushing. She gave him a questioning look before glancing down and realizing the source of his alarm. Beneath her shirt, she wore an undershirt.

  She laughed softly. “Layers,” she said with a smile.

  Jack let out a small groan, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment as she tucked her overshirt into her bag. Without further comment, she pointed back to the trail.

  “We go this way. We must camp before dark because we won’t reach Astiria by nightfall.”