Page 5

Cyclone

T he morning fog clung low to the ground, masking the faint disturbances Jude had left behind. I moved quickly, every muscle tense, my eyes sweeping the ground for any sign. A broken branch here, a scuffed patch of earth there—subtle hints that she had passed through.

I cursed under my breath as the trail led me to a swollen river. The current was vicious from last night’s rain, and it had swallowed any clear tracks. Still, I paced the bank until I found a place where the mud bore the ghost of a footprint.

“You’re stubborn,” I muttered, a flicker of something like pride flashing through my anger.

Hours later, after pushing through thorny undergrowth and navigating treacherous ravines, I stumbled upon a man leading a tired packhorse along the road—a grizzled merchant with a wary eye.

“Have you seen anyone?” I asked without preamble.

The merchant squinted at him, assessing. “Maybe. You got money?”

I gave him money

“I see girl, moving fast. Looked like she was heading for the old rail tunnels.”

My stomach twisted. I’ve heard about those tunnels they were dangerous—dark, crumbling, crawling with the desperate and the damned. Most people stayed away from them.

I nodded once, a curt thank you, I gave him some granola bars and tightened my grip on my pack. If I could find her I would keep her safe, hopefully she wasn’t far ahead.