My Infinite System.

Lucian went first.

It was impossibly vast on the other side, this emptiness carved from air, stretched too far. A trace of containment clung to everything, frayed threads of motion, a clean absence where people had moved carefully enough to leave none of themselves behind. Marc came next, a hand raised to steady the tear, and Silas brought up the rear, jaw tight, eyes searching.

"Fresh," said Marc.

Lucian nodded. "Left it easy enough," he added. "Only slowed pursuers."

Silas flexed his good hand. "Then let’s show them how fast we can follow."

They moved.

The landscape beyond the tear was desolate, cracked stone and low ridges under a dull sky, and the trail ran north-east in a narrow band of disturbed earth. It was easier to follow than find, an impression of pressure in his palm rather than marks on the ground. The people who’d taken them had been methodical about everything, including their care not to leave any trail.

Marc came to a halt several paces to the left, using a bit of his own power to trace the impressions. "They laid down short-range containment fields to obscure the trail," he muttered. "Small ones, for concealment rather than safety."

Lucian frowned. "How many?"

"Had at least a dozen signatures on the escort team. Might have had more."

Silas’ lips twitched. "And ours?"

Marc paused. "Reia’s is here, just faint. Mira’s spirit resonance is visible in a few places. Evelyn’s is... well, tangled in with the containment filaments, but not absent. Same with Lucy and the others, though theirs are harder to untangle."

Silas exhaled sharply and continued walking. There was nothing to say. The trail dictated movement, dictated pace, dictated the occasional pause while Lucian tested a rock or patch of earth before committing to a particular direction. It had turned twice so far, once to avoid a particularly strong trace of a rift scar, and once simply to make following more difficult. It hadn’t been easy, but it hadn’t been hard either.

Halfway across a stretch of open ground, Marc halted and raised a hand.

"Contact."

Three figures waited beyond the ridge, rear guard, left behind to observe and test the trail. They turned as one as Lucian approached, containment rods already in their hands, but he was faster. He wrenched the nearest one’s arm backwards and broke the man’s neck before the second one could even react. Marc dropped to his knees beside the third, containing him with a careful pulse of energy, long enough for Silas to finish the job and flatten the man’s nose with a single powerful punch.

It was done. Silas stood, his breath coming unevenly. "Not exactly an ambush."

"No," agreed Lucian. "They wanted to know how quickly we’d follow."

Marc knelt beside one of the dead men, fingers hovering over the broken insignia on his chest. "Same level of discipline as the Warden’s people. Clean work."

Lucian checked the rest of the men over. One of them had a short-range communication charm tucked into his belt, still humming with residual energy. He crushed it underfoot. "They’re alive," he said. "All of them. The rear guard was carrying traces of the same containment field as the main party. If anyone had died, their resonance would still be visible."

Silas’ shoulders loosened, just slightly. "Then we keep moving."

They did. The trail grew fainter as they climbed higher, the rising ground swallowing the disturbed earth, and the pressure of containment in the air grew stronger. Lucian could see the filaments more clearly, now, could see Mira’s spirit thread, thinner than it should have been but whole, see the sharp edge of Reia’s signature beyond the filaments, see the steadying weight of Evelyn’s presence, muffled but not absent, see the tangle of Lucy’s and Althea’s signatures that ran together in the same vein as Mira’s.

Marc drew alongside him. "They’re close now," he said unnecessarily.

"I know."

Silas glanced at both of their faces. "How do you want to play this?"

"We don’t tip our hand until we have to," said Lucian. "We check the lay of the camp, make sure they’re all there, then decide how to move in. If they’ve stopped somewhere to hold people, we go in quietly. If they’ve only paused to transfer, we end the game before they move again."

Marc inclined his head. Silas simply rolled his injured shoulder experimentally and fell into step behind him.

The ridges beyond the next rise grew closer. Beyond the crest, Lucian could see the thicker traces of containment, could see the low, squat buildings, the smaller barriers thrown up hastily to obscure the view. He raised a hand, signaling the others to wait, and peered carefully at the figures gathered within.

There wasn’t a great many. A group of them stood in the center of the makeshift camp, held loosely together by a thin barrier, the resonance of containment as light as silk over bare skin. Escorted by the Warden’s people, in their neatly kept uniforms, and a few reinforced constructs standing guard over the more vulnerable members of the group. Escorted, but not contained beyond the thin veil over their heads.

Lucian took a slow breath in, letting it out just as slowly. His eyes swept over the group a second time, making sure. Then a third. Then he met Marc and Silas’ gazes.

"We go in quiet until we can’t," he said. "Marc, go for the far edges. Silas, you get the ones I mark." He tapped his temple. "I’ll take the center. You two get the others."

Silas merely nodded, while Marc gave his shoulder a short squeeze before drawing back and waiting.

Below them, the camp carried on as it always had. People moving carefully, speaking quietly, working as though unaware that their careful preparations had been seen.

Lucian watched them for a long moment, memorizing the lay of the camp, every detail etched behind his eyes. Then he began his descent.

A/N

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