---
By hour eight, the silence between them had softened, not into comfort, but into a mutual understanding. The kind of quiet that didn't need permission. The kind of silence where survival recognized survival.
Azhara walked five paces behind Kai. No closer. No further. She matched his rhythm with the obedience of a shadow, never once stepping on deep water she had yet to test. She watched the direction of his eyes and adjusted her path accordingly. If he stopped, she stopped. If he veered, she veered.
She didn't ask questions. Not because she had none, but because she knew now wasn't the time.
When he bent to collect a larger meteoroid chunk, she circled to the side and swept up the smaller, broken flakes he left behind. Shards that might have sliced open someone untrained. But she brought them without pause, blood dripping from her palms from razor fragments. It bit through her fur and skin.
