As I left camp, I slowly loosened my grip on control.

  Drisnil’s posture shifted almost immediately — shoulders settling, movements smoothing into something deliberate and economical. Where my steps were careful, hers were precise. Each footfall was placed with intention, avoiding soft earth, skirting brittle twigs. Even the air seemed to part more cleanly around her.

  The forest carried only birdsong.

  We followed the trail we ourselves had made days earlier. Through her eyes I watched her read it with ease — a snapped twig here, a flattened patch of grass there, the faint ghost of a footprint pressed into drying mud.

  After several minutes of silence, she spoke.

  “I do appreciate that you created me in this world, Geoff,” she said calmly. “But you hardly allow me to live. Lately I’ve been nothing more than an observer. It has been… frustrating.”

  I took partial control of her voice.

  “I’m aware. But your past decisions make it difficult to trust you. Norman is an example. You might have saved him.”

  I released her mouth again.

  “There was no guarantee,” she replied softly. “And unlike you, I do not continue existing if I die.”

  “I don’t want this body to die either,” I snapped. “But saving friends matters.”

  “Norman was your friend,” she corrected coolly. “Not mine. He was a capable mage. That is all. Not valuable enough to justify risking myself.”

  Her detachment was chilling.

  “And the party?” I pressed. “You nearly attacked Jenna.”

  Drisnil laughed under her breath.

  “She stood between me and someone who deserved correction. He insulted me. Underestimated me. If he had any sense, he would have fled and thanked me for my restraint.”

  “But we were exiled because of it.”

  “There was nothing to gain in that village,” she replied. “Poverty. Small ambitions. You would have stagnated. Instead, you ended up in the cleric’s bed.”

  There was amusement in her tone now.

  “I must admit,” she continued, “I’ve enjoyed observing that development. You should let me take control sometime. I would show her things you haven’t even considered.”

  A wave of revulsion rolled through me.

  “No. That would be a betrayal. I will never allow that.”

  She made a dismissive sound.

  “You are terribly restrained. No wonder your previous lover strayed.”

  The comment landed cleanly.

  She felt my anger spike and pivoted.

  “I will follow your rules for this mission,” she said lightly. “But it will cost you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Three nights per week,” she replied. “Full control.”

  The implications unfolded rapidly.

  “Under conditions,” I said immediately. “No sex. No murder. No maiming. And you do not impersonate me.”

  She sighed theatrically.

  “What, then, am I meant to do?”

  “Hunt monsters,” I replied. “Goblins. Bandits. Orcs. Kobolds. Direct your impulses where they belong.”

  She considered.

  “Very well. But if you break this agreement,” she said evenly, “I will find a way to hurt the cleric.”

  The threat was not loud.

  Which made it worse.

  “Then we are agreed,” I said.

  Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

  The mission ahead would already have delighted her.

  The bargain was simply a bonus.

  We continued through the forest long after the sun had disappeared.

  Darkness settled thick between the trees, but through Drisnil’s eyes it was little hindrance. The world did not dim for her — it merely shifted into sharper contrast. Branches, disturbed soil, scuffed bark — the trail was obvious. Childishly so.

  The night air grew colder as the hours passed. Each breath left faint clouds before us, dissolving into the stillness. No insects. No wind.

  Only quiet.

  Drisnil did not tire. Her stride remained smooth and relentless, stamina seemingly endless. I could feel her anticipation building — a tightening beneath the surface.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then, at last, we saw it.

  A faint glow ahead. Firelight.

  She slowed instantly, dropping lower, movements becoming fluid and predatory. We crept closer until shapes emerged: two armed men seated beside a small campfire, speaking in low voices.

  Guards.

  Drisnil’s pulse quickened. Mine did not.

  Silently, she gathered fallen branches and retreated a short distance between two closely spaced trees. With efficient precision, she whittled the wood into crude spikes — fast, clean cuts. She drove them into the earth at an angle, testing each for firmness. Then she dragged a heavy fallen limb across the approach, disguising the trap beneath leaves and debris.

  Satisfied, she returned to position.

  She retrieved Cain’s bow.

  Fifty metres.

  The first guard laughed softly at something his companion said.

  Drisnil exhaled.

  The arrow flew.

  It struck deep into the man’s shoulder with a wet impact. He screamed and collapsed sideways into the dirt.

  The second guard lurched upright in confusion.

  The second arrow took him through the thigh. The sound he made was sharper — shock, then agony — as he dropped hard beside the fire.

  The camp erupted.

  “We’re under attack!” someone shouted. “Weapons! Up!”

  Shapes burst from the surrounding tents — more than a dozen, perhaps closer to twenty. Steel flashed in firelight.

  Drisnil did not hesitate.

  A third arrow loosed — this one catching a man as he rushed forward, dropping him with a strangled cry. Chaos fed her.

  “They’re in the trees!”

  Torches flared to life. Light scattered wildly across bark and brush.

  Several guards charged directly toward our position.

  Drisnil turned and ran.

  Not blindly — never blindly. She guided them along the path she had prepared.

  Behind us, a man shouted.

  Then came the sound.

  A stumble. A sickening crunch. A scream that tore through the night as one of them fell onto the concealed spikes. Another tripped over him, howling.

  The sound of pain multiplied.

  From further back I heard familiar words — the cadence of a healing incantation. The cleric was already working.

  Drisnil grinned as we sprinted deeper into the forest.

  Her speed through the undergrowth was inhuman. Branches parted, roots were avoided without conscious thought. No torchlight followed us long.

  Within minutes, their pursuit faltered.

  She veered sharply off trail and slid into a shallow depression beneath tangled roots. Pulling the cloak tight around her body, she reduced herself to shadow.

  Breathing slowed.

  Heartbeat steadied.

  The forest swallowed us whole.

  In the distance, angry voices and pained groans drifted through the trees.

  Drisnil’s satisfaction thrummed like a living thing.

  And I understood, with uncomfortable clarity—

  She was enjoying this far too much.

  From beneath the roots where she had hidden us, Drisnil whispered inwardly,

  “Watch while I sleep.”

  It was not a request.

  Before I could respond, she let go.

  Her body settled into stillness almost instantly, breathing deep and even. I felt myself forced outward — not expelled, but untethered.

  I hovered above her sleeping form, awareness detached from flesh. No heartbeat. No breath. No weight. The forest felt distant and unreal, as though I observed it through glass.

  For a fleeting, terrifying moment, I wondered—

  What if I could not return?

  What if surrendering control had cost me the body entirely?

  But there was no time to dwell on it. Panic would solve nothing. I could only wait and trust that the tether between us still held.

  With nothing else to do, I watched.

  In the distance, the guards’ voices gradually faded. Their search grew half-hearted. Eventually, even the injured stopped groaning.

  Silence reclaimed the trees.

  Suspended above her, I had little to distract me from thought.

  These men were not Percy.

  They were not Baranabus.

  They were soldiers — perhaps convinced we were villains. Perhaps ordered here under threat. Perhaps simply loyal to the wrong authority.

  Was it right to injure them?

  If they reached our camp, we would have to kill them. Men who believed they were upholding law. Men with families. With lives.

  But if we did nothing, they would kill those I loved.

  Illara.

  Sera.

  The children.

  The choice was not clean. It was not noble.

  It was necessary.

  If protecting my people required blood, then blood would be shed.

  Even if it haunted me later.

  After nearly an hour, Drisnil stirred.

  The moment her consciousness sharpened, I felt the pull — and slipped back into the body without resistance. Sensation flooded me: breath in lungs, cold air on skin, the weight of muscle and bone.

  Relief.

  Dawn was beginning to stain the horizon pale grey.

  We moved again.

  Cautious.

  The guards’ camp was darker now, their fire extinguished. Four men stood watch at careful intervals, facing outward. Closer to our approach, another figure remained hidden among brush — a forward scout.

  Drisnil noticed him instantly.

  She withdrew her blade and coated it with the sleeping draught we had prepared earlier. The scent was faint, bitter.

  Using the cloak and boots, she vanished.

  Step by step she closed the distance. The scout never saw her. Never heard her.

  Her hand clamped over his mouth.

  The blade slid into the flesh of his upper arm — precise, controlled.

  A muffled cry. A brief, panicked struggle.

  Then slackness.

  She lowered him carefully to the ground and dragged leaves and brush over his body. From more than a few paces away, he vanished into the forest floor.

  We retreated once more.

  Such a tight-knit unit would not abandon one of their own.

  They would search.

  And searching would exhaust them.

  As the sun rose higher, Drisnil’s enhanced night vision became less useful. We remained at distance, concealed, watching.

  The tension in the camp was palpable. Voices carried — sharper now. Concerned.

  She listened with quiet pleasure as they realised one of their own was missing.

  It took them nearly two hours to find him.

  When they did, a tall woman knelt at his side — armour marked with the sigil of a cleric. She pressed her hands over the wound and spoke words thick with divine cadence.

  Light flared softly.

  The hunt, it seemed, was only just beginning.