The convoy moved like a tired animal.Wood creaked. Rope strained. Wheels complained over frozen ruts. Men walked with shoulders hunched and mouths shut, because talking spent heat and heat was currency nobody carried enough of.Silas kept one hand on the timber sled rope.He felt Torvin’s weight through pitch cloth and planks, a hidden bundle that had to look like insulation and smell like labor. Not like breath. Not like fear.Kaela walked on the sled’s left flank, roof blade at her thigh, hammer on her hip. Band visible. Caps visible. Her wrapped palm stayed close to her body like it was protecting something private.Pell walked on the right, eyes on the straps, fingers never far from the wet rag he used to re-wet the seal when it dried. His hands were raw. His face was gray with exhaustion.“Any change?” Silas asked without turning.Pell shook once. “Breath is… there.”“‘There’ isn’t a number,” Kaela muttered.Pell swallowed. “Shallow. But steady.”Silas nodded. “We keep it that w