Three weeks to find him. She'd followed the blood — her own, at first, dripped along the mountain trail where she'd crawled before Daiten found her. Then his. Smaller drops. A man moving fast, not checking behind him. He should have checked behind him. She found him in a fishing village, using a name she didn't recognize. He saw her across the market square. His face did something complicated — relief and terror arriving at the same time, fighting for the same muscles. She crossed the distance without hurrying. She had time. She had nothing but time.