Turning back, you find Quinn on the ground with Etzli. The girl looks like something out of a nightmare. Her shirt is ripped, her eyes are wide, and she’s soiled by streaks of drying sludge. She watches you and it’s clear as day that she’s shocked you came back for her. Ignoring that, you dismount and start removing saddlebags and gear from Trust’s back. Quinn takes the canteen.

“Make sure she drinks.”

Quinn nods in the direction of the mountains. “Do you have enough time?”

She understands what’s happening as well as you do. The sun is almost up. It’s almost the start of the third day and gods help you, you don’t have enough time. You’re not ready for it. The death will have to come quick. The calculations will be a nightmare. You steel yourself, though, because if you can go back and save someone’s life from a sun wraith, you can damn well do some fast-fingered alchemy.

“Let’s win this thing,” you grunt.

Trust is down and dying. You set your hand on his heaving neck and watch as his eyes spin with fear. For the first time in all his lives, you don’t whisper quietly for him to enjoy the peace you think he deserves between this death and the next life. Instead, you’re begging the flames to burn quick and hard. When they finally start to race over his body, you tear your attention away to focus on the components. Ashes are gathering on the ground and you’re scrambling to figure out how the hell you’re going to summon a horse in such a tight window.

Quinn leaves the canteen with Etzli and joins you. She’s like a beacon of ghostly hope at your side. You stand there, thinking and panicking, but she whispers fiercely, “You can do this.”

Nodding, you kneel over the components. Your mind races in twenty different directions.

“Sunlight will hit in about thirteen clockturns. Some of my components need at least ten with the ashes to take in a rebirthing. So we mix them in the next three clockturns or it’s a wash. But the ashes are still cooking. Scorching hot ashes burn away components faster. Same result: a wash. So I have to overdose them without over-overdosing them.”

“Keep calm. Focus,” Quinn says. “What’s the first step?”

“I’m thinking.”

You’re not thinking, not really. You’re drifting into instinct. Equations flash through your head, but they’re coming too fast, too unsettled. You take a deep breath and run them again. Lingerluck has resistance qualities. It won’t burn as fast, but it’ll still diminish. You double the typical amount before sifting out a few pinches on instinct. Carefully, you add it to the ashes.