Depleting pain wrapped through her core as Faine stumbled into a mountainscape of grass and shrubs. She knew she'd been this exhausted before, but the images of training in combat and fighting were broken and blurry at best.
Leaning up against one of the largest boulders, Faine focused on her breathing. If she was going to have any shot at taking down Trace, she'd have to learn how to pace herself. Leighton was always better at endurance, at patience in general. Any calm calculation she had left the second her goal was within sight.
She'd pour everything into this death, into this vengeance though. No matter the cost.
Faine found her breath in the silence of wind and stars. The crisp air felt dry and invigorating on her skin, caressing her arm in subtle waves.
No matter how briefly, she felt peace.
Even after every bird returned to her fully, Faine could still hear the whispers. A cacophony rising toward crescendo as she looked upon the mountainous surroundings. Sharp peaks and valleys giving way to plains of grass and flowers, though still buried in thin pockets of snowmelt. She felt the whipping frosted winds come to greet her as she cooled down, stealing her warmth little by little.
Faine searched for that last ounce of strength buried within her and stood. Mt. Signet was sweepingly vast and searching for Trace's facility out here would not be an easy task.
Whispering a silent prayer into the breeze, she pushed away from her landing spot and yanked her jacket tightly around her once more. She had no idea how long it would take for Leighton to find her, for Naisene to disrupt her mission and drag her back.
The idea made her shudder.
What would they do to her now, after she'd fled and sought her own revenge. Kill her, finish the job?
The thoughts ravaging her mind were unbearable.
No, she wouldn't allow it.
Faine let herself skid less than gracefully down the hill, leaning back to avoid any more cuts or bruises. The burn scars still radiated enough heat to keep her from freezing, the memory of fire woven into her very body.
She had no idea how long she wandered through those fields, only the way her muscles ached as she trudged over each small peak. The landscape was vast and winding, laden with mysterious markers that Faine had never seen before.
She noticed thin stones placed into the mud in strategic weaving patterns. Another set parallel to them three feet apart.
The path, the path, follow the path.
The heart of the mountain, the heart of the valley.
Voices blended, syncing together into a sentence that had Faine looking west. The path led down into the heart of the valley, just as they'd told her. She followed blindly, recalling the faintest memory of her Uncle explaining those strange shadows of intuition.
The voices, he'd deduced, were those of spirits passed. Ancestors and souls who stayed behind to guide the young.
Faine had spent half of her life frightened of them, as if being a shifter wasn't challenging enough. She'd never known another outside her family until Leighton. Until she learned what a gift it could be, not something to be hidden or feared.
Yet even he claimed to have shut out the whispers a long time ago.
She'd never had the heart, more often than not saved by their chaotic ramblings.
Faine knew this time would be no different as she rounded the corner and found a large, towering building. The cement wrapped fortress scaled a total of five levels and loomed just beneath the peak itself.
Stationed Guards monitored the exits, batons in their sheathe and large rifles strapped to their backs.
The likelihood of an attack this far into the mountains seemed unrealistic to her, but Faine was certain this was the facility she was looking for. The shadows agreed, the waves of intuition subsiding further into her mind.
A moment of silence was welcome as she squatted behind an entanglement of pine trees, stepping carefully to avoid the crunch of needles on the ground.
Faine knew she didn't have time to sit and memorize the shift changes and the regular habits of each individual Guardsmen. These men might appear to be cold, having stood there for potential hours, but she did not know the first thing about their demeanors or skill set.
What she did know was the easiest ambush would be when relief came for them. They would allow their vigilance to drop just enough for her to slip down and render them unconscious. This would be swift, controlled, and stealthy.
The darkness provided a great cover for her, offering pockets for her to slip through the voids within and dismantle as many officers as possible before hunting Trace down.
Fewer injuries meant less damage control for her later.
So Faine sat against the slope with the small trunk of a tree between her legs, supporting her weight. She pressed her frame into the scratchy bark, ignoring the lingering patches of sap and braced herself. This could take hours or minutes.
The break allowed her a moment to compose her thoughts. If Trace wasn't using this building to hide, if this became a deadend, Faine didn't know what else she would do. Perhaps the evidence would wait for her here, even in his absence.
She shook her head, snapping out of it.
He had to be here, there were no other safe houses.
Faine mapped out her route, smirking as one of the Guardsmen yawned and flashed a glare at his partner. The small gesture was telling enough. Not only was their shift drawing to a close, but Faine noted the distaste. His eagerness to escape the man beside him excited her.
Willing herself to disperse into the shadows, Faine slipped through the length of the tree and hopped between each blade of grass until she was hiding beneath the pillar of her new target.
"Where's Connall?" the impatient one grumbled. He was sturdy in appearance, with a well-groomed beard trimmed close to his face. "He was supposed to relieve me fifteen minutes ago."
The excitement blossomed into adrenaline in Faine's chest, her heartbeat thumping to life in her ears. They'd flee quickly then, eager to rest and get out of her way.
"You know he's no good at the morning shifts," the other replied, rolling his eyes. Faine couldn't make out many of his features, save for a more round body. "He'll be down."
She felt herself itching to begin, to take them down. Their impatience was infectious but sloppy. She managed to exhale through her nose, sure not to disturb their surroundings.
Footsteps crunched against the ground, dragging as they stumbled.
"There you are," the first one snapped. "You're late."
Connall only grunted in response, giving a halfhearted salute before replacing the stance of his counterpart who was already storming away.
Faine's smirk grew, gaze lifting to the other Guard. He was not yet to be relieved. Waiting only a few minutes and tracking the drooping eyelids of Connall's weak awareness, Faine reached into his shadow and slithered up, wrapping a thick strand of magic over his nose.
She assumed him to be overworked with how quickly the man fell.
Before Connall could look, Faine manifested behind him and gripped his neck and mouth physically, forcing him to submit without air. He struggled, tossing an elbow back with little force. She barely grunted, holding tightly until she was certain he was unconscious.
Checking their pulse, Faine nodded to herself and turned her attention to the facility.
With one last glance at the fallen men, she took a deep breath and headed for the entrance, slipping around the shaded side and sneaking toward a dark window.
This would not be easy.
But nothing worthwhile ever was.