Chel swallowed and pulled free a small, worn object—an amulet, dull with age and soot, strung on a frayed leather cord. It was nothing magical. Not anymore. Its enchantment had burned out long ago during the siege of Durnhal. But he'd kept it, all the same. Not as a relic of power, but as a memory. A promise.
It had belonged to her—the woman on the cliff. The one whose last words haunted him like the ring of steel in an empty field.
Kaelen ran his thumb over the smooth curve of the stone, feeling the faint groove where her thumb had once worn it thin. She had believed in second chances, even for those who had failed her. Especially for those.
He stood again, quiet as breath, and tied the amulet to the low branch above him. Where moonlight might catch it. Where she might see it.
A message not in words, but in trust.
Then he stepped back into shadow.
