They were both carrying a relatively light backpack, as were the others moving carefully on the mountain slopes, something Finn had insisted on and had, indeed, presented to them packed and ready before they set out. Anyone heading up into the surrounding mountains, he’d said, no matter how long they intended to be away from town, would carry sensible trail supplies and equipment. Because it was very easy to get turned around in the heavily forested mountains. Turned around and lost. Because they were strangers to the area and because even locals knew to be prepared just in case.

Especially in March, when the weather could change in a heartbeat and make returning to safety . . . difficult.

Bishop hadn’t argued, nor had anyone else.

Now he said, “Nobody will be happy that we have to stop, but there’s no real choice. Aside from darkness making searching all but impossible, most of us aren’t used to this kind of terrain and should rest when we can. Probably best if we start out tomorrow at first light, or at least as early as possible.”

“Want to try the spider senses again?”

Bishop shook his head and said wryly, “Every effort so far has been painful for both of us as well as the others, and I don’t see that changing.”

He had taught most of the others to enhance their senses, something he had learned to do himself, and he was the strongest and most accurate in the unit at using what Miranda had termed spider senses, especially when he was with her, which in this situation meant the blowback pain had been rather acute.

“I would have argued against it,” she said, also wryly. “Still have a headache from the last attempt.”

“The only downside of our connection that we’ve discovered, beloved.”

“We’re lucky,” Miranda agreed.

“So far.” Since it had to be said, Bishop said it.

They both knew that the pain they shared in trying the spider senses was just one aspect of the only real weakness of the deeper-than-telepathic bond between them. The truth was that their bond was so deep now that if one were cut, the other would in all probability bleed—and both knew the incapacitation of one, most especially if they were separated, would mean they would both go down. Temporarily at best.

Permanently at worst.

So far, that was a situation they had not had to face.

Miranda pushed that thought aside, as she always did. They would face what they had to face if and when it happened and not a moment before.

“So now we know the spider senses throw back a painful echo,” she said. “But we still don’t know how seriously our abilities are going to be otherwise affected here.”

They were talking aloud rather than telepathically, he thought, partly because every member of the team was guarding themselves somewhat warily to the best of his or her abilities, and also because it was eerily silent up here. Far too early in the year for the summer sounds of crickets and the bullfrogs that could undoubtedly be heard from all the surrounding mountain streams, and as for birds . . .