At the sound of Sivra's name, the preserved hand pulled Aylin's line toward the dead woman's mouth.
High-root cut across Jiang's shoulder. He trapped it under his sound foot before the cord could enter the white bark between her lips.
"Lower Myrn's bridge," the stolen voice asked again.
That sentence carried no threat. It sounded tired, amused, and certain that Sivra would complain while doing it.
Jiang understood why the lie had survived her blade.
Green light spread through the name above the half-preserved face. Letters appeared under the white growth.
The name read Ilyra Marr.
The woman who had shown Myrn how to take her first road still wore a shallow bill scar along her cheek. One front tooth sat crooked behind her parted lips. White root had copied both details badly enough to prove it had studied the body.
Jiang's anger found an easy target.
