(Nova POV)
The narrow pass felt like a throat closing around me.
Rock walls rose sheer on both sides—gray stone veined with black, sky reduced to a thin, pale strip far above. The air was cold and still, carrying the faint metallic scent of frost and old blood. My boots scraped over loose gravel; every step sent fresh pain spiking through my bruised ribs and the shallow cut along my side from earlier skirmishes. The bond tugged weakly—Damien somewhere far off, still alive, still fighting. It was the only thing keeping me upright.
I'd been moving for hours—maybe days—since the ravine. Hunger gnawed at my stomach; exhaustion dragged at my limbs like wet chains. My light flickered low, barely more than embers in my palms. I told myself Mara Voss's valley was close. I told myself the bond would guide me. I told myself Damien would find his way back.
Then the shadows moved.
Not the natural shift of light through branches—these were wrong. Too fluid. Too deliberate.
