Silas was at the territory's edge again.
Alistair noticed him from the kitchen window after dinner, standing just past the southern boundary stone, his coat catching the wind.
He had been doing this most evenings now, and not the way he had in the early weeks, when standing at the edge had been part of keeping the Characteristic running at full strength.
This was different. He stood there now, the way a man stands at a window in a house he had finally decided was his.
Following that, Alistair set down his cup of water and walked out without telling the others.
Due barely glanced up from his maps. Elara kept writing in her notebook, on the same page she had been staring at since the afternoon.
The cold outside was sharper than expected.
The first edge of the season was turning, and Alistair was not going to acknowledge it. Acknowledging the season meant accepting it would keep happening whether he noticed or not.
He reached Silas and stood beside him.
