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I uncurled and curled my stiff fingers every third breath to keep the blood flow constant. I mustered every ounce of strength to run toward the smudge of green log cabins visible through the flurries. Twisting the handle of the closest one, I collapsed on the floor with my head between my legs.

“Destroy the old version of yourself. Shed your skin, Severyn. You must kill off whoever you were before.” It was that voice again, softer.

“I don’t know how!” I screamed.

Silence slicked the frozen walls.

“Find him. You are the only one who can save him.”

“Find who?”

“I cannot speak his name. He has been waiting for you to find his remains.”

Familiar howls sounded from the outskirts of the trails. Bridger’s wolves… he’d sent them to watch me. “The moment I enter those forests, I’ll be hunted by the beasts.”

“You are not like him. You are not courageous. He chose wrong.” The voice ripped abruptly from my mind, leaving me with a splitting headache that took all but an hour to shake.

I curled into a ball under a pile of woven blankets, the scent of dust and moth balls drawing through my breaths.

I’d never seen outside the Northern barriers and was told to strip whatever essence I had to survive.

To detach myself from all I knew before I could exist. The academy wouldn’t break me—it would tear me into flesh and bone like Bridger’s pack of wolves would once they clawed the door down.

This world was harsh, but the title was earned, not given. I could choke on my breath a thousand times, but it would not mean my lungs were stronger. And a broken bone was only weaker, more brittle, once it healed .

I grabbed the handle.

As I stepped toward the flurries of whipped ice shards, the dagger heated in my fist—that dull, sleek-handled blade Damien gave me.

If I kept walking, would I meet Spring? Would flowers bloom on my path instead of wilting to death and morphing into slush under the harsh cold?

Would Spring melt into Summer and bring on that radiant heat I craved every Thaw?

If I decided not to cowardly hide in the shadows of the cabin, where not even a lantern flickered with life, would I survive the night, the next one, and the one after that, until all I heard was the thrashing of the waters as the boat took me to Malvoria?

Every ache and bruise on my flesh screamed where Bridger had struck me.

I hugged my body, the only tender touch of comfort I’d felt since entering the academy.

I kept walking through the frost-licked path, searching for my quell to break through my skin.

Slivered, beastly eyes stalked my way, waiting for the moment I stepped beyond the curve.

The same creatures that Father’s shield had kept at bay.

Ashen claws reached and reached.

I walked an hour into the flurries. Through the pelting winds, I dragged my boots across feet of growing snow, tracing over the ice plains and the peaked mountains, sheltered only by the crunch of each step.

No signs of life, no flutter of wings called to me from the bushes.

I couldn’t see beyond the haze of pale. My eyes burned and stung as a shield of white blanketed my path.

I was too far along in my trek to turn back, and my joints were stiff and too frozen to walk one more step.

The thick snow softened my landing as my knees gave in, my fingers slate grey, dull as I believed my blood had frosted to my veins.

No screams sounded from my frost-bitten lungs as I stared above. Winter claimed me as I lay to die in a Frozen Valley .

It wasn’t wings I heard, but boots. The soft crunch as someone approached me from behind.

A faded shadow drew closer. Using all my strength, I turned to see the ghastly grin on Callum’s face as he unsheathed a dagger from his side and walked closer.

He’d frozen my vocal cords with a raise of his hand. Frozen my tongue from screaming as he sliced my leg.

I couldn’t move—couldn’t scream. I’d gone limp. Flashes of white and red stripped my sight with each heave of his blade. My blood tasted like screams.

“Worthless,” he muttered, slow and cruel. “Bridger, care to take a stab?”

A set of silver eyes watched, blonde ends curling toward his jaw. Bridger stepped closer, and I knew he’d take out his revenge on me. “Your brother told me I can’t touch you, but he didn’t mention Callum.” He flared his nostrils. “And he pissed me off, so I don’t give a damn what he orders.”

Stop. Please stop. I screamed in my head. A glove shoved between my chapped, snotty lips.

Thirteen . He’d marked me thirteen times. The same day as my birthday. The same day, I heard of Klaus’s death. Thirteen was only a number, but when the gurgled breaths dulled after ten, those last three had my pleas begging for him to end me.

Callum sunk to his knees, brushing a strand behind my ear. “Such a waste of a pretty face. I couldn’t bring myself to ruin it.”

I clawed back. Heaving my spine into a mound of crimson snow. “Please,” I stuttered in pain.

Bridger scoffed. “Make her undesirable. Carve your name, mark her. I don’t care. She’ll be dead before the sun rises.”

Callum dragged the blade against my exposed thigh. “Scream my name, Sev. Tell me to stop.”

“Bridger,” I forced a breath through my teeth. “I did nothing wrong. ”

“You did nothing. That is correct. Your villagers starved for years, and you sat in your estate reading, smiling down at us peasants.” He wiped his nose. “I begged your father for medicine for my mother once. He had his guards restrain me.”

“Then kill me!” I screamed. “Don’t… torture me. I didn’t know, I swear!”

Bridger clenched his jaw. “I prefer misery.” He lifted my iced hand, holding the sharp metal against my fingertips. “Say my name, Severyn. Cry out to your fortress before I cut each one off one by one. Hopefully, you were taught how to sew.”

When I didn’t respond, he pressed the blade harder. “Stop! Please.”

Callum gripped my jaw, forcing me to face Bridger. “Say it, Severyn.”

“Bri—Bridger!” I cried.

Callum snickered. “Let the hounds tear the rest of her clothes off. She’ll freeze before dawn comes.”

I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t scream. I lay there for what felt like hours, the cold biting into my skin, deeper than the frost ever had. A strange shape loomed through the mist, gliding between the trees like a shadow untethered from the earth.

The snow stopped falling, but only where that shadow passed. Then, it came into view—a dragon, wide-winged and immense, skimming the ground before landing a few feet away.

Terror rooted me to the spot. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run. My voice trembled as I whispered, “Don’t hurt me.”

The dragon tilted its head, dark as midnight, its eyes gleaming like fractured amethysts. Slowly, it unfurled one massive wing, draping it over me like a shield. Its scaled flesh was cold but alive, a barrier against the biting winds. I curled beneath it, shivering, my breath shallow .

Winter, my home, seemed to hold its breath as I gazed through the cracked veins of its wing. They stretched like rivers frozen mid-flow, yet within them, I swore I felt warmth—a heartbeat.

For a moment, I wondered if I had died.

Archer’s dragon stayed with me the entire night. When the sun rose, it felt abrupt, as if the moon itself had turned away, unable to bear witness to my suffering.

I couldn’t help but wonder: did Archer send his dragon?