Page 35

And for just a moment, I think I could belong here too.

***

We’ve fallen into a companionable silence that stretches long and easy between us, like we’ve done this for years instead of days. The fire crackles low, casting ember-glow shadows on the mossy ground, and Roan has shifted to sharpening her smaller knife, her motions slow and idle. I’m sitting cross-legged beside the dwindling heat, a piece of bark in my hands that I’ve been absentmindedly peeling apart.

That’s when I hear it.

Faint. Rhythmic. Steady.

My fingers go still. The bark slips from my hands and lands in the dirt with a soft rustle.

Hoofbeats.

The sound is distant, but unmistakable—leather and muscle moving over packed earth, slow and deliberate. Not the wild, erratic gallop of a stray horse. No, this is controlled. Someone’s riding. Someone nearby.

Roan notices immediately. “What is it?”

I swallow hard, heart racing. “A horse.”

In an instant, Roan sits up, muscles taut. She sheathes her knife with practiced ease and scans the forest beyond the fire’s glow. “Direction?”

I tilt my head, straining to isolate the sound from the whisper of wind in the trees. “West. Getting closer.”

The fire crackles beside me, its flickering glow painting us as easy targets against the dark. A lump forms in my throat. Should we put it out? Hide? If it’s them—if my mother’s enforcers have finally caught up—there won’t be anywhere to run.

Roan shifts, and I see the decision harden in her eyes before she speaks. "I’ll check it out."

She moves to stand, but before she can take a step, I reach out and catch her wrist. My grip is tight, desperate. "Wait—don’t go alone."

Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp and assessing. I see the argument form behind her lips, the instinct to keep me tucked away, out of danger.

But I shake my head before she can protest. "I'm coming." My voice wavers slightly, but I steel my spine, refusing to back down.

Her jaw tightens, a muscle jumping near her temple. She wants to argue. Iseeit. But when she looks at me—reallylooks at me—her shoulders drop the smallest fraction.

She exhales through her nose, muttering something under her breath before nodding once. "Stay close. No heroics."

The way she says it, like I’m the one she’s worried about, sends a strange warmth through my chest. But I ignore it, pushing down the emotions clawing their way up my throat.

We douse the fire quickly, leaving only the faint glow of embers. The hoofbeats grow louder as we move through the underbrush. Roan leads the way, steps silent, shoulders tense. I follow her, trying to breathe through the fear clawing up my throat. Clan enforcers ride horses. If they’ve found us here—

The mare emerges first—a sleek bay with a black mane, snorting softly as it steps into a patch of moonlight. Its rider follows, dismounting with fluid grace. Leather armor, weathered and scarred from years of use, clings to the stranger’s lean frame. Her eyes are dark beneath the shadow of her hood.

And when she speaks, it's with a grin that seems carved from familiarity.

“Well, well,” the woman drawls, resting a gloved hand on the mare’s neck. “If it isn’t Roan Talrik. Thought you’d retired to a cushy noble’s guard post by now.”

Roan goes still beside me, her entire body stiffening like a wolf scenting danger.

“Selis,” she says, voice cold. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

The woman—Selis—doesn’t answer. Her gaze shifts to me, and her smile widens as she pulls down her hood and leads her horse closer. Her hair is pale and long, tied back in a braid that falls down her back.

“Who's your friend?”

The question lodges like a thorn beneath my skin. I glance at Roan, hoping for some sign of reassurance, but her jaw is locked tight, her shoulders rigid. The tension between them crackles more sharply than the fire ever did.

I want to ask how she knows this woman, but the words stick in my throat. Selis stands too easily, too comfortably, like she’s used to sharing Roan’s space. Her presence tugs at something unfamiliar inside me—a prickling discomfort I can’t name.