"You owe that man three days of standing still." The laughter stopped in the blink between syllables. "Who said that?" one of them barked, daring, fingers closed on a rusted hookknife. "I did," I said. My finger moved once. The nearest thug froze mid-smile, mouth half-open, spit hanging in the air. "Stop playing with us, witch," the taller one said. He took a step, voice hard. He did not finish the sentence. My finger tightened, and his jaw locked. He stood like a puppet with a cut string. "Hey, don't—" another lunged. I put a pearl between two fingers and let it roll. It hit him under the knee. He stumbled and fell into the man whose jaw had frozen. Sound returned in a rush; three feet of snow exploded up as they hit the cavern floor all at once. "You will stand three days and learn balance," I told the heap. "Start now." "Please, mister—" the smaller one pleaded. The voice came out thin, brittle with cold and panic. I let my concentration ease a notch. The frozen man sagged to the floor; the others keeled over hard and groaned. "You're five men," I said. "You came for relics that belong to a mountain." "Relics?" the tall one spat. "Old bones. Stupid temple trash." "Try calling them trash again when your bones freeze," I said. I moved through their scattered bodies without touching them. My boots did not sink into the snow. A scent—copper