(Rosaline's POV)
The storm announced itself without mercy.
Thunder rolled across the sky like a warning drum, low and endless. The wind howled through the trees, bending their crowns until branches groaned under the strain. Rain followed moments later—sharp, cold, relentless.
It soaked us within minutes.
Our cloaks clung uselessly to our bodies, heavy with water. The horse snorted in distress, hooves slipping slightly on the muddied road as Vlad guided it forward with practiced calm.
"There," Vlad said, pointing ahead.
Through the curtain of rain, a small structure emerged—a hunter's cottage, half-swallowed by trees, its roof slanted and worn but intact. Smoke did not rise from its chimney. Abandoned.
But shelter.
We reached it just as the rain intensified, fat drops hammering against wood and earth like a thousand fists. Vlad dismounted first, helping me down before leading the horse around back, securing it beneath what little overhang the cottage provided.
