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SERA

T he cold seeps into my bones.

The mountains are unforgiving, vast stretches of jagged stone and white-covered death. The wind cuts through me like a blade, but I do not shiver. I have learned to ignore it.

It has been hours since Veylan left.

I tell myself I don’t care. That I do not need him to hover, to instruct, to command.

But the silence around me is too loud.

I am alone. Truly alone for the first time in weeks.

I should savor it.

Instead, I feel watched.

I pace the edge of our camp, the ruins of the old outpost curling into the cliffs. A forgotten place, abandoned by war.

Veylan told me to stay inside. I don’t.

I practice instead. Blades. Footwork. Breathing.

Everything he has drilled into me. Everything that is no longer foreign.

The dagger is familiar now like an extension of my hand. My body moves before I think—parrying the ghosts of enemies that do not exist.

I do not hesitate.

Good.

The last time I hesitated, he bruised me.

The last time I hesitated, I lost.

I do not plan on losing again.

The feeling sharpens.

A soft, slow movement, too quiet, too controlled.

My pulse quickens.

Someone is here.

I exhale, slow, measured. The wind shifts.

He thinks I do not see him.

He is wrong.

The figure emerges from the treeline, dressed in the same manner as the men who attacked Veylan and I at the abandoned safehouse.

A bounty hunter.

Sent by Hazeran.

Sent for me.

He is bigger than me. Broad, armored. A dark elf, but not noble-born. A mercenary.

His smirk is practiced.

He has done this before.

He has killed before.

But so have I.

His voice is low, condescending. "You’re a slippery little thing, aren’t you?"

I do not respond.

My grip on the dagger tightens and he notices.

Good.

"You don’t have to die today," he continues. "Come with me willingly, and maybe they’ll let you live."

He does not expect a fight.

That is his mistake.

I move before he finishes speaking.

The dagger slashes through air.

He barely dodges in time.

Shock flickers in his eyes. Not fear. Not yet.

He expected a frightened girl.

He got something else.

He lunges. I am ready.

Steel clashes against steel. He is stronger. I am faster.

He tries to overpower me. I slip beneath his strike. My dagger cuts across his arm.

A shallow wound.

Not enough.

He snarls. "You little?—"

I do not let him finish.

I stab.

The blade buries deep into his side and a strangled noise escapes him.

I twist.

He crumples.

I step back. Breathing. Shaking. But not hesitating.

He does not get back up.

The silence returns.

The wind howls.

Blood stains the snow. I stare at it, and I can’t seem to process everything.

I hear him.

Veylan.

His approach is silent, but I feel his presence before I see him.

He stops at the edge of the clearing.

His gaze pins me, and my legs just freeze.

His silver eyes flicker over the corpse, then back to me.

Blood is splattered across my hands, my arms, my clothes.

I am breathing too hard, but not from fear.

He notices.

Then, I smile.

"You told me not to hesitate," I murmur.

Veylan does not move.

He watches me like I am something new.

Like he is seeing me for the first time.

The air between us changes.

He steps forward.

Slow. Measured.

My pulse quickens.

Not in fear.

Not anymore.

He stops inches away.

His voice is unreadable. "Did you enjoy it?"

The truth is sharp.

Yes.

I do not say it.

I do not have to.

He already knows.

The silence between us stretches.

I expect him to speak. To reprimand.

He does not.

He does something worse.

He lifts a hand—slowly. His fingers brush my jaw, tracing blood that is not mine.

My breath catches.

His gaze is heavy, unreadable but he does not stop.

He should not touch me like this.

Not after everything.

Not after what I just did.

But he still does.

I do not pull away. He does not move.

The gap between us is too small, too much.

My heart is hammering too fast.

"Go inside."

I blink. "What?"

His jaw tightens.

"Go inside, Sera."

A command. But not like before.

His voice is different now.

Rough. Unsteady.

Like he is fighting something.

Like he does not trust himself.

I should listen.

I should walk away.

But listening isn’t my strong suit.

"Are you afraid of me now?" I whisper.

His eyes flash.

Something dangerous stirs in them.

"Go inside, Sera." His voice is tight. Controlled. Too controlled.

I recognize it.

It is the same way he speaks when he is trying not to do something he might regret later.

I wonder, what happens when he does?