The peaks rose sharp and unforgiving as Kade Shen and Lila Mei fled the Starfall ruin, the orb a warm weight in Kade’s pack, its silvery pulse a silent drumbeat against his spine. Night had fallen thick, stars hidden by clouds that promised more rain, and the air bit cold through his jacket. The saber swung at his hip, reforged and blooded, a steady companion after the ruin’s revelations—Jian’s sacrifice, Lila’s past as Vane’s blade. Her confession still burned in his chest, a mix of rage and reluctant trust, but they’d agreed: together, to stop Vane. The Crow’s warning—a day behind—drove them hard, pushing west through the dark, the black ridge fading at their backs.

Dawn broke gray and thin, the trail twisting into a dusty plateau ringed by cliffs. Kade’s thigh ached, the graze from the hideout stiffening, and Lila’s pace lagged, her cracked rib slowing her despite her grit. They stopped near a cluster of boulders, the wind kicking up swirls of grit that stung Kade’s face. He pulled the Crow’s map, squinting at the faded lines—two days to Vane’s main camp, if the bookkeeper was right, but the ruin’s orb changed everything. “We cut north here,” he said, tracing a path. “Skirt their patrols, hit ‘em before they dig in.”

Lila nodded, leaning on a rock, her duster flapping. “Smart. Vane’ll expect us head-on—he’s arrogant like that.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes flicked east, sharp and restless.

Kade caught it, folding the map. “You hear something?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Just wind. Keep moving.”

He didn’t buy it—her tension screamed louder than words—but the plateau stretched empty, cliffs silent. He slung the pack tighter, starting north, when a low rumble shook the ground—hooves, too many, closing fast. Kade spun, saber flashing free, as a dozen Red Talon riders burst from the eastern pass, dust billowing like a storm. Red bandannas gleamed, rifles leveled, and a lean man led them—sharp-eyed, scarred, a tracker’s sneer on his face.

“Shen!” the leader barked, reining in ten yards off. “Drop the blade—hands up. You too, Mei.”

Kade’s grip tightened, the saber steady. “Not a chance.”

Lila stepped beside him, sticks raised, but her stance was off—tight, coiled, wrong. The riders fanned out, cutting escape, their horses snorting steam into the chill. The tracker’s eyes locked on Lila, a smirk twitching. “Knew you’d turn up, runaway. Vane’s got a price on you—bigger now, with him.”

“Shut it, Ryle,” Lila snapped, but her voice cracked, and Kade’s gut twisted. The Crow’s words—watch her—slammed back, cold and clear.

“Ryle?” Kade hissed, glancing at her. “You know him?”

“Old crew,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Tracker. Vane’s best.”

Ryle laughed, sharp and cruel. “Best? Hell, I trained her. She’s still got the stink of us—can’t wash it off.” He leveled his rifle at Kade. “Last chance, Shen. Drop it, or we drag you in pieces.”

Kade shifted, saber up, ready to fight—twelve on two, bad odds, but he’d faced worse. “Try it,” he growled, stepping forward.

Then Lila moved—fast, too fast. Her stick cracked against his wrist, sharp and precise, and the saber clattered to the dust. Before he could react, she hooked his leg, dropping him hard, her knee pinning his chest. “Stay down,” she whispered, voice breaking, as Ryle’s riders closed in, ropes snapping tight around Kade’s arms.

“What the hell—” Kade roared, thrashing, but her weight held, her sticks at his throat. Dust choked him, rage blinding—betrayal, raw and hot, searing through. “You’re with them?”

“No,” she hissed, eyes locked on his, pleading. “Trust me—this saves you.”

“Trust you?” He spat, straining against the ropes as Ryle dismounted, grinning wide. “You’re Vane’s—always were!”

“She’s smart,” Ryle said, hauling Kade up, the ropes biting his wrists. “Knew we’d track her—knew I’d blow her head off if she ran again. Smart play, Mei. Vane’ll like this.”

Lila stood, stepping back, her face a mask—hard, but her hands shook, sticks trembling. “Take him,” she said to Ryle, voice flat. “I’m done here.”

Kade glared, blood pounding in his ears. “You’re dead to me,” he snarled, the words a blade of their own. She flinched—barely—but turned away, dust swirling around her as the riders yanked him toward a horse.

Ryle clapped her shoulder, laughing. “Welcome back, killer. Boss’ll be proud.”

Kade’s pack—orb inside—was slung over a saddle, the saber kicked into the dirt. He fought the ropes, rage fueling him, but a rifle butt slammed his temple, stars bursting, and he sagged, dragged onto a mount. Lila’s silhouette blurred as they rode east, her duster a shadow against the cliffs, shrinking with every hoofbeat.

The camp was a sprawl of tents and firepits, nestled in a canyon an hour’s ride from the plateau. Red Talon swarmed—dozens, maybe fifty—sharpening steel, loading crates, their red bandannas a sea of blood. Kade’s head throbbed, the temple hit swelling, as Ryle’s men shoved him into a cage—a rusted iron box, barely wide enough to sit. The orb’s pack vanished with Ryle, and the saber—his father’s, Starfall’s—was gone, lost in the dust.

He slumped against the bars, ropes cut but hands numb, the betrayal a weight heavier than the iron. Lila—his ally, his edge—Vane’s blade all along. Her whisper—this saves you—clawed at him, a lie or a riddle he couldn’t unravel. The camp bustled, voices barking about the ruin, the orb, Vane’s return. He’d failed—Jian’s sacrifice, the Starfall legacy, slipping through his fingers.

Hours bled into night, the camp’s fires casting long shadows. A guard tossed him a stale crust, sneering, and Kade ate, slow and grim, strength his only weapon now. The cage’s lock was crude—iron pins, rusted hinges. He fished a shard of broken bar from the dirt, small but sharp, and started working the pins, quiet and steady. Wei’s voice echoed—flow, not force—and the shard slid, bending metal, until one pin clicked free.

Footsteps—Ryle, swaggering back, a bottle in hand. “Comfy, Shen?” he taunted, leaning close. “Vane’s coming—wants you alive. Guess he liked your pa’s fight too much to waste the blood.”

Kade glared, shard hidden in his palm. “He’ll get mine,” he said, voice steel.

Ryle laughed, turning away, and Kade worked faster—two pins down, the lock loosening. The camp quieted, guards slacking, and he shoved the door, hinges groaning but giving. He slipped out, shadow to shadow, a ghost in their midst, and found a tent—Ryle’s, by the stench of liquor. The pack sat unguarded, orb inside, and Kade slung it on, heart pounding.

No saber—time ran thin. He grabbed a knife from a crate, crude but sharp, and carved his initials—K.S.—into the tent’s post, a promise etched in wood. Vane wanted him alive; he’d get him fighting. The camp’s edge loomed, cliffs dark and open, and Kade ran, dust swallowing his steps, defiance burning brighter than the betrayal still raw in his gut.