They did not move immediately.
Jin and Hess sat beneath the trees long after night fully settled, listening to the forest reclaim its voice. Crickets resumed their rhythm. Leaves whispered again. Somewhere far off, an owl called—once, then twice.
Life continues.
As if nothing had changed.
"That was a mistake," Hess said at last.
Jin didn't ask which part.
"Yes," he replied.
Hess glanced at him. "You usually argue."
"I'm not arguing with truth anymore."
Silence returned.
Hess fed the fire carefully, keeping it low. "They'll expect you to disappear."
"Yes."
"And if you don't?"
Jin stared into the flames. "Then they'll correct the error."
Hess nodded slowly. "Rowen."
"Yes."
"Good officer," Hess said. "Bad enemy."
"He believes in order," Jin replied. "That makes him predictable."
"And you?"
Jin's mouth curved faintly. "I believe in people."
Hess snorted. "That's worse."
They slept in shifts.
Jin's wound throbbed constantly, reminding him of time's pressure. He ignored it. Pain was honest. Pain didn't lie about urgency.
At dawn, Jin stood and stretched carefully. The land before them rolled gently toward Lowpine's outer fields.
Too close.
Too exposed.
Hess followed his gaze. "You shouldn't go back."
"I won't," Jin said.
"Good."
"I'll go around."
Hess sighed. "Of course you will."
They moved north instead, keeping the village within reach but never in sight. Jin chose paths that allowed observation without presence. From a ridge line, they watched smoke rise. Counted guards.
Too many.
"They're fortifying," Hess said.
"Yes."
"And fast."
"They know time favors them."
Jin clenched his jaw.
By midday, they encountered the first ripple.
A trader.
Alone.
Pulling a small cart by hand rather than by horse.
Jin watched from cover as the man struggled uphill, sweat streaking his face despite the cold.
"No escort," Hess murmured.
"That's new."
They stepped out deliberately—not threatening, but unmistakable.
The trader froze.
Jin raised a hand. "We won't take your goods."
The man stared at him, eyes darting. "I don't have anything worth—"
"We know," Jin said calmly. "We want information."
The trader swallowed. "About what?"
"The road," Hess said.
The man hesitated. Then laughed bitterly. "Which one?"
That answer cut deeper than Jin expected.
"They're everywhere," the trader continued. "Posts. Checkpoints. Papers."
"Papers?" Hess asked sharply.
"Travel permits," the man said. "You walk without one, and they turn you back. Or worse."
Jin closed his eyes briefly.
Names.
Papers.
Now permission.
"What happens to those who don't comply?" Jin asked.
The trader looked away. "They learn."
Jin nodded. "You can go."
The trader blinked. "You're letting me—?"
"Yes."
The man fled without another word, leaving his cart rattling behind him.
Hess stared after him. "You didn't even ask his name."
Jin said quietly, "That's the point."
They met others over the next two days.
Not openly.
Not all at once.
A farmer who spoke too carefully.
A woman who avoided the road entirely.
A boy who repeated county phrases like prayers.
Each encounter added weight.
"They're teaching fear," Hess said that night.
"Yes."
"And people are learning fast."
"Yes."
Hess glanced at Jin. "So what's the plan?"
Jin stared into the dark.
"We remind them what choice feels like."
The opportunity came sooner than expected.
On the third night, Jin spotted movement near an old crossing—a shallow river bend used for generations before the road cut elsewhere.
County men were there.
Four.
Relaxed.
Confident.
Jin studied them carefully.
Too relaxed.
"They think this place doesn't matter," Hess said.
"It matters," Jin replied. "That's why they're wrong."
They waited until full dark.
Jin moved first.
Quiet.
Deliberate.
He stepped into the open, making no attempt to hide.
The soldiers noticed instantly, weapons rising.
"Stop!" one shouted.
Jin stopped.
"I want to talk," Jin said.
Laughter.
"About what?" another soldier sneered.
"About roads," Jin replied.
That drew hesitation.
Hess remained hidden.
Jin stood alone.
"You don't have authority here," the lead soldier said.
Jin nodded. "Neither did the road, once."
The soldier frowned. "You're that man."
"Yes."
They recognized him.
Good.
"Captain Rowen wants you alive," the soldier said.
"That's unfortunate," Jin replied.
The soldier raised his weapon—
And Hess struck.
Not lethal.
Precise.
The soldier dropped with a gasp, weapon flying.
Chaos erupted.
Jin moved fast now, disarming another man with a sharp blow to the wrist. The third stumbled back, panicked.
The fourth fled.
They let him.
Jin stood over the fallen men, breathing hard.
"Go," he said to them. "Tell Rowen this place still chooses."
They scrambled away without argument.
Hess emerged, eyes bright. "That was reckless."
"Yes," Jin said. "And necessary."
By dawn, the crossing was empty.
No blood.
No bodies.
Just shaken certainty.
Word would spread.
It always did.
They didn't linger.
They never lingered.
Over the next week, they repeated the pattern.
Never killing.
Never stealing.
Always appearing where the county least expected.
A post left unmanned.
A patrol turned back.
A permit quietly ignored.
Small things.
Enough to remind people that the road could still be walked without permission.
Hess laughed one night, breathless. "You've become a ghost."
Jin shook his head. "A question."
Hess sobered. "Rowen won't ignore this."
"No," Jin agreed. "He'll come himself."
Rowen came on the tenth day.
Not with an army.
With certainty.
Jin knew before he saw him.
The forest felt tighter.
Quieter.
Rowen stood at the edge of a clearing, hands clasped behind his back.
Alone.
"Still breathing," Rowen said.
"Yes," Jin replied.
"You're costing lives."
Jin shook his head. "I'm preventing them."
Rowen's jaw tightened. "You think this helps your village?"
"I think fear is already there," Jin said. "I'm just breaking its rhythm."
Rowen stepped closer. "You're forcing my hand."
Jin met his eyes steadily. "You already played it."
Silence stretched.
Then Rowen said quietly, "I admire your restraint."
Jin blinked.
"I don't," Rowen continued. "It prolongs suffering."
"And violence ends it?" Jin asked.
Rowen hesitated.
Just once.
Jin saw it.
And knew.
That night, Jin returned briefly to Lowpine.
Not openly.
Not safely.
Mira met him in the dark.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"I won't stay."
She searched his face. "You're different."
"Yes."
"They talk about you."
"Yes."
"Some with hope," she added softly.
Jin closed his eyes.
"Doyan wants to join the academy," Mira said.
Jin opened them sharply. "Soon?"
"Yes."
He nodded slowly. "Good."
"And you?" she asked.
Jin touched her hand.
"I'll walk until the road no longer needs me."
She held him tightly.
As dawn broke, Jin left again.
This time knowing—
The road had been chosen.
And so had he.