Ayla had to calm down. If she panicked, she’d make stupid mistakes and get herself killed. She had to calm down. She scrambled backward over the rocks, putting as much distance as possible between her and Rosi, even as Rosi kept lurching after her. They were barely twenty paces from a sharp drop-off. They might have tumbled right over the edge.

Weapons. Weapons. Her dagger would do nothing, Rosi probably wouldn’t even feel it.

The blue powder bomb.

Ayla groped at the small pouch at her hip, head spinning. Her temple was throbbing; she could feel the hot trickle of blood running down the side of her face. Head wound, never good. She managed to stagger upright, fingers closing around the bomb, ready to throw it—

“Wait!”

Crier. She was above them, scrambling down the mountainside after Ayla. With one hand, she was holding her shirt up over her mouth and nose. Guarding against the blue smoke.

“Crier, stay back!”

Rosi was on her feet again, eyes rolling in her head. The jut of bone from her shin made Ayla want to throw up.

“I know her!” Crier said, muffled through the shirt. “We can still save her, I know she’s still in there somewhere—Rosi!”

“It’s too late,” Ayla shouted, eyes on Rosi. “Crier, I’m sorry, it’s too late. We can’t save her, she’s too far gone. She’s not Rosi anymore.” She gripped the bomb tight. One throw, it’d be over. Rosi’s body blown viscerally apart. Crier wasn’t responding. “Crier, I’m sorry. But I’m not trading her life for mine—or yours.”

Rosi lunged.

Ayla heard Crier shout her name, but there was nothing but fear in her voice; she wasn’t trying to stop Ayla anymore. Ayla ran, graceless on the rocky terrain but still lighter on her feet than Rosi. More in control of her body than Rosi. She heard Rosi crawling over the rocks behind her, making this guttural, drawn-out noise, a last breath elongated, rough and broken. Rosi was speeding up. Pushing the shell of herself to the limit.

Ten more paces. Ayla was gasping, exertion and pain and terror all at once. She made it to the edge of the drop-off and turned around. Rosi was coming for her, tongue lolling, skin peeling off her palms. She was coming and she wasn’t slowing down.

At the very last second, Ayla threw herself sideways.

Rosi didn’t.

Rosi made no sound as she fell. Shuddering, nauseated, Ayla peered over the edge of the cliff. It was a long way down.

She backed away. A hand on her shoulder. Crier.

“I’m sorry,” Ayla said again. Crier was staring at the spot where Rosi had disappeared. The patch of thin air.

“No, you were right,” Crier whispered. The words seemed scraped out of her. “It was too late. I was—foolish, and it could have cost you your life.”

“I don’t think it’s foolish to believe someone could still be saved. Not at the heart of it. I don’t think that’s foolish at all.”