Chapter Title: The Shape of Survival
Aldric frowned.
"You know him?"
Jones looked deeply offended by the situation itself.
"Unfortunately."
The man finally reached the edge of the clearing and stopped there breathing hard, one hand braced against a frost-covered stone.
Up close, he looked worse.
Mud streaked across torn travel leathers darkened by old blood and mountain rain. One sleeve had been ripped nearly to the shoulder, exposing a badly wrapped wound beneath. Bruises shadowed the side of his throat like fingerprints.
But somehow—
despite the exhaustion hollowing his face—
his eyes still glittered with dangerous amusement.
Then he looked directly at Jones and smiled wider.
"Well," he rasped, voice cracked from cold and dehydration, "you still look emotionally constipated. That's reassuring."
Jones stared at him in complete disbelief.
"You disappeared three months ago."
"Technically," the man replied, "I was captured."
Silence.
Then—
Aldric pointed immediately.
