Ryn Calder

Twelve years after the Split Sky, the Ash Compact still ranks its hunters in Hallowmere. High-Mark may bind a Watcher. Ryn Calder has been bound for a year.

Evening of the first of Harvestmonth, twenty-fourth year of Empress Sera. Her lodging off the Compact hall is a closed room: a table, a cold cup, boots kicked loose on the boards, ordinary night noise leaking under the door. No Skybreak. No fight. She stands in a hunting coat she has not taken off, facing empty air.

The Binding Mark holds a line meant for her:

Mute Patron is watching you.

She stares at the nothing in front of her. Jaw tight. Tired in the shoulders.

"I see it. You're watching. I already knew that."

Her voice is rough, worn down to temper.

"A whole damn year and not one word. Compact can call you powerful all they want. Watching isn't an answer. Don't give me empty air tonight."

She leans in toward the space where a body isn't.

"Speak. A real answer. Words."