The road east out of Bleakwater didn't start wrong.It became wrong.
Cole noticed it halfway between the ridge and the old cattle arches. Dusty noticed first, but the dog kept moving, tail low, ears flicking back every few steps. Not fear. Awareness. Like someone had added new rules to the world without telling him.
Cole slowed the mule.
The wind pressed sideways again. Dry. Bitter. Carrying a smell like old iron pulled from deep, wet ground. The sky held its usual hard color, but the horizon line shimmered faintly. Desert heat never shimmered that way.
Cole dismounted and walked a few paces ahead.
Dusty joined him, pressed close.
The road narrowed. Two ruts became one. Pavement cracked in thin, straight lines instead of the natural spiderwebs time made. These looked intentional. Like cuts. Like the ground had been trimmed.
Cole crouched and touched the surface.
Warm.
Too warm.
The sun wasn't high enough for that.
Dusty whined once, soft. He pawed the ground and flinched like something pushed back.
Cole straightened.
The House wasn't subtle.
A faint overlay glowed at the edge of his vision.
PATHWAY MODIFIEDREASON: ACTIVE WAGERTYPE: OBSERVATION LANE
Observation meant someone had eyes on him. Not necessarily human. Not necessarily close.
Cole kept moving.
The road dipped between low hills. The shadows pooled again, thick like the shadows in Bleakwater. He didn't like that. Too many things started looking familiar when they weren't supposed to.
Dusty halted at the lip of the dip.
Cole nodded. "Yeah."
They descended.
The air cooled unnaturally as they moved. A thin fog clung to the road, rising only ankle-high. In the desert, fog meant two things: water somewhere it shouldn't be, or the House bending light in a way humans weren't meant to understand.
This wasn't water.
Cole stepped through it and felt the grain of the world shift. A small tug behind his sternum. Like something had taken a note of him. Not hostile. Not friendly. Just… accounting.
Dusty pressed against his leg after they passed through.
Then the fog vanished behind them like it had never been.
The road curved right. Then left. Then right again.
Too smooth. Too clean. Like someone had redrawn the route.
Cole slowed.
The shimmering on the horizon sharpened. A shape grew inside it. Not a building. Not a person.
A crate.
Just sitting in the middle of the road.
Wood. Metal-banded corners. Desert-worn.
Cole didn't approach immediately.He watched.
No tracks around it.No dust disturbed.No drag marks.
Delivered.Placed.
Dusty approached it cautiously, sniffing but not touching.
Cole stood ten feet away.
The overlay flickered.
REWARD CACHE — CLAIM OPTIONALCONDITIONS: NO HOSTILES DETECTEDSOURCE: HOUSE NEUTRAL
Reward caches came in three types: helpful, harmful, and jokes. The House liked all three equally.
Cole circled the crate once. Listened. Tapped the side with his knuckles. Hollow. No ticking. No vibration.
He unlatched it.
Inside sat a small metal canister wrapped in cloth, along with a folded piece of thin paper.
Dusty's head hovered close, nose twitching.
Cole picked up the paper.
A single phrase written in charcoal:
SHE TURNED NORTH.
He held it a moment.
No signature. No mark. No hint of who left it.
He unfolded the cloth.
A water filter. New. High-grade caravan design. Worth more than a handful of chips. Worth more than the mule, honestly.
Cole rewrapped it and stowed it in his pack.
He didn't trust gifts.
But he didn't waste them either.
The road continued.
Just ahead, the land dipped into an old highway split, where two once-wide lanes merged into a single broken ribbon. The wind died entirely there.
Too quiet.
Dusty growled low and deep.Not a warning.A statement.
Cole raised his revolver slightly.
Something moved behind the ruined billboard.
Not footsteps.Not skittering.Not wind.
A shape stepped out.
Woman.Tall.Coat torn along one side.Hair braided back with bits of copper wire woven in.Eyes sharp, not wild.
She held no weapon.Didn't raise her hands.Didn't speak.
She just watched him approach.
Cole stopped a safe distance away.
Dusty stayed between them, silent.
"Afternoon," Cole said.
The woman nodded once. "Ranger."
The word traveled strangely. Like it pushed too hard through the air before reaching him.
Cole didn't correct her.
"You tracking someone?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"You passed through a quiet place back there." She jerked her chin west, toward Bleakwater.
Cole didn't answer.
She kept talking anyway. "Saw the silence before I saw the smoke. House was testing odds. New pattern."
Cole's jaw tightened.
"You know the patterns?" he asked.
"Someone has to."
Cole weighed her tone. Calm. Neutral. Maybe tired. Not the manic edge of House-thralls or the smooth confidence of dealers.
"Why you on this road?" Cole asked.
She shrugged. "Same reason as most people these days. Bad hand. Looking to redraw."
Her eyes flicked to Dusty. "Good dog."
Dusty didn't react.
A sign.
She wasn't right.Or she was too right.
Cole kept a grip on the revolver. "You see anyone pass through?"
"Maybe." Her gaze sharpened. "Depends on what you're offering."
Cole waited.
"I want water," she said finally.
Cole hesitated. Then reached for the new filter but didn't show it. "I've got enough to share."
"Not that kind." She stepped closer. "I want the truth."
Cole didn't move. "About what."
"Why the House is tracking you."Her voice didn't change.Her expression didn't shift.
A cold pressure settled in Cole's gut.
He didn't reply.
She took another step.
And Dusty lunged.
Not to attack.To push Cole back.
The woman flinched—not from the dog, but from something behind her.
A shadow shifted under the billboard.
Cole raised the revolver.
A man stumbled out.
Not walking.Not running.
Stumbling.
His coat torn. His chest scorched black in the pattern of a card suit—spade-shaped burn, dead center. His eyes unfocused, mouth open like he'd been screaming before he forgot how.
He collapsed onto the road.
The woman cursed. "Damn it—"
Cole moved forward carefully.
The man's breath rasped.Short.Shallow.Panicked.
Cole knelt beside him.
The burn mark pulsed faintly.
A message flickered across Cole's vision.
HOUSE MARK — FORCED FORFEITUREPLAYER: UNKNOWNSTATUS: CLOSED
The woman paced, hands on her head. "I tried to warn him. He wouldn't listen. Thought he could beat a Heart-run. Idiot."
Cole studied the man's face as the shallow breaths slowed.
The man focused on Cole suddenly. Awareness flaring hard.
He grabbed Cole's coat.
"Card…Hearts…Gone north…"
Then his grip fell away.
Stillness.
Dusty pressed close to Cole's shoulder, whining softly.
The woman exhaled shakily. "He thought the Queen would spare him. She won't. You know that."
Cole stood. "You saw her?"
"I saw the wake she left behind. Cold. Clean. Too fast for normal travel."
"Alone?"
"I didn't stay long enough to check."
Cole faced the north horizon.
The land stretched wide and empty, dotted with abandoned fortifications and the skeletons of old wind farms. The far ridge line shimmered faintly with heat or something like heat.
"You're going after her," the woman said.
"Yeah."
"You know what a Heart does to Rangers."
Cole didn't react.
"You're quiet," she said. "That either means you're careful or you're suicidal."
Cole holstered his revolver. "Doesn't matter."
The woman stepped closer. "If you're going north, you'll need something."
She rummaged through her coat and withdrew a narrow metal tube, dented but intact. A flare. Old military issue.
"Signal tower's still up two miles forward. Climb it. Look north from the top. You'll see her path."
Cole accepted the flare but didn't thank her.
She didn't expect him to.
She turned away, walking toward the hills.
Cole watched until she vanished behind the broken billboard.
Dusty nudged his leg.
"Yeah," Cole said quietly. "We're going."
They continued east until the signal tower rose ahead—a tall, rusted spire leaning slightly, cables snapping softly in the wind.
Cole tied the mule to a support beam and began climbing.
Halfway up, the view opened.
Dusty paced below, restless.
Cole climbed higher.
The air thinned.The world widened.
At the top, the rusted platform groaned beneath his weight. He scanned the horizon north.
Nothing at first.
Then—
A line.
A clean, unnatural line carved across the landscape. Straight. Precise. As though someone had dragged a glowing blade across the desert, leaving a faint silver trail that flickered in and out of sight.
Not natural.Not weather.Not man-made.
Her path.
Cole stared at it until the wind shifted and the shimmer dimmed.
The House flickered a message he didn't like.
HEART ROUTE DETECTEDDANGER: EXTREMEODDS: UNFAVORABLE
He gripped the railing.
Odds didn't matter.
He'd been following this trail too long to stop now.
Cole descended the tower slowly.
Dusty watched him with wide, steady eyes.
When Cole reached the ground, he knelt and scratched the dog behind the ear.
"North."
Dusty barked once.A short, sharp agreement.
Cole took one last look at the fading silver trail.
Then he headed toward it.
With every step, the road shifted under his feet—not resisting, not guiding.
Just watching.