Anise followed him into the trees, her senses stretched thin as wire. The forest changed the moment she stepped where he stepped—snow no longer cracking beneath her boots, branches no longer clawing at her cloak. He moved as if the world parted for him, and somehow, impossibly, she began to move the same way. Each breath she took was shallow, controlled, her pulse roaring louder than the wind in her ears.

Don’t fall. Don’t think. Just follow.

Her lungs burned, but she bit down on the pain, clutching the signet beneath her cloak like a talisman. It felt warmer now, almost alive, and she wondered if fear was finally driving her mad. Every few steps she glanced back, half-expecting to see torchlight spilling through the trees—but there was only darkness and drifting snow.

The dogs were closer. Too close.

She heard it then—the sharp whistle of breath from her guide, barely a sound at all. He stopped abruptly, dropping into a crouch. Anise froze beside him, her heart hammering so hard she was sure it would betray her.

He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the edge of his face beneath the hood. One finger lifted to his lips. Silence.

She nodded, her throat tight, as shadows flickered between the trees below. Voices carried upward now, rough and eager.

“She went this way.”

“I smell blood—she’s slowing.”

Anise’s knees threatened to give out. They’re going to find me. Mother… I’m sorry.

A gloved hand closed around her wrist—firm, grounding. Not painful. Not cruel. His grip was warm despite the cold, anchoring her to the moment. He leaned close, his voice a breath against her ear.

“Whatever happens,” he murmured, “do not run unless I tell you to.”

Her fear spiked—but beneath it, something else stirred. Trust, fragile and terrifying.

The hunters passed beneath them, close enough that Anise could see frost clinging to their beards, hear the dogs snuffling angrily at the snow. One of them paused, staring directly toward the ridge where she hid, and Anise held her breath until her vision blurred.

Then the wind shifted.

The dogs whined, confused, pulling their handlers away. The hunters cursed, turning back toward the valley, their footsteps fading into the storm.

Only when the sounds were gone did Anise realize she was shaking.

She sagged slightly, and instantly his arm came around her, steadying her weight as if it were nothing. She looked up at him then—really looked—and saw not a monster, not a stranger, but a warrior carved from shadow and resolve.

“How did you—” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper.

He released her slowly, his gaze scanning the forest even as he answered. “I know these lands. And I know how men hunt.”

His eyes met hers again, and something unspoken passed between them—recognition, perhaps. Or fate.

“We’re not safe yet,” he said. “But you will be.”

Anise swallowed, nodding once more. Exhausted. Terrified. Alive.

And as she followed him deeper into the dark, clutching her mother’s signet to her heart, she felt it clearly now—not just hope, but the sense that her life had crossed a line it could never return from.

Whatever this man was…
Whatever his name would mean to her…

Everything was about to change.