Jorn turned his horse, already planning his next move.  He had more than a hunch now - he had a direction. The hunt wasn't over yet. He needed to go back to Elandor and find who else knew...

Finn's smile faded, and he pushed himself up, instinctively reaching for the knife  at his belt laying beside them.  Elara tensed, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the undergrowth.

Elara frowned but said nothing. Her mind was racing, already trying to piece together what lay ahead.  He wouldn't stop. She couldn't just sit idle in Elandor, not with so much at stake.

Cai's gaze locked on Aldren.  "There's no mercy here. Just justice."

Sevri crouched near the bow, securing one of the crates with a thick rope. She leaned forward slightly, her hands pulling the knot tight, shoulders flexing with each tug. Her outfit wasn’t like anything noblewomen wore—not loose gowns or layered tunics.

Her sleeveless top was fitted snug against her, the fabric clinging to her frame like a second skin. It left her arms bare, and the cut of it was high at the waist, exposing a sliver of skin above her hips whenever she reached or leaned too far. The trousers she wore were no better—tight at the legs and hips, fitted to her form in a way that left little to the imagination. She moved with purpose, unaware—or perhaps perfectly aware—of the way eyes might linger.

Finn wasn’t the only one watching. Two crewmen near the mast glanced her way, murmuring something to each other before turning back to their work with knowing grins. One of them laughed, but he didn’t look at her again. Smart man, Finn thought, pulling his gaze away and focusing on the stack of barrels ahead of him.

“Hard to focus, huh?” Jorn’s voice slid into his ear like a knife.

Finn jumped, turning to see Jorn grinning like a man with too many secrets. He’d come up behind him without a sound, his grin wide, sharp, and entirely too pleased.