The word snapped out before he had formed the plan, which meant she had formed it first and hated it.

“We need a barrier.” He was already dropping the satchel. “Ten seconds.”

Mara grabbed at the satchel strap. “Fire climbs in here.”

Elias shrugged her hand off the bag. “I know what it does.”

The pale-faced hunter at the far end lifted the hooked cable slightly. “No, you don’t. Not in root wind.”

A figure stepped into view at the far end of the dim lane and stopped at the edge of the light. Pale face. Dark eye sockets. A length of hooked cable hanging from one hand. More shapes gathered behind the trunks, not rushing, waiting for pressure and fear to do part of the work.

Lina made a small sound through her teeth. Mara pulled her back.

Elias yanked free a length of stripped cable from a dead post, ignoring the flare in his palm, and wrapped it around a cracked junction where black residue gleamed. The crouch pitched his balance sideways for a second and blackened the edges of his sight before he forced them clear. He tore open the old matchbox Kellen had traded him with clumsy fingers. The paper felt absurdly light in his hand, a museum relic turned live. Three matches left.

“Mara.” He kept his eyes on the striker. “Get her ready to run when it catches.”

Mara didn’t move. “If this goes up the canopy, I will drag you myself.”

Elias met Mara’s stare and said, “That seems fair.”