Kael didn’t flinch. He stood in the shadows near the boundary wall, his expression unreadable. Behind him, the faint torchlight of the village flickered, casting his silhouette against the forest's edge like a man split between two worlds.

“You would’ve been arrested by dawn,” he said calmly.

Rynaria’s fingers clenched around her satchel strap. “I had a plan.”

“They were planning faster.”

“You lied to the Elders, Kael. You gave them a trail to follow—into the river. That’s not a delay. That’s a risk.”

He finally looked at her then, eyes sharp in the dark. “I knew you’d be gone by the time they searched. And I told them you were heading east when I knew Lyana would lead you west.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. It was a clever misdirection. Too clever. It carried Kael’s signature: bold, deliberate, reckless.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said finally.

“I know.”

“I didn’t ask for you to throw yourself between me and their judgment.”

“I know.”

She hated the quiet certainty in his voice. Hated that he had done exactly what she would’ve done for him. That was the problem with caring—it made traitors of you in slow, invisible ways.

“Do they believe you?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Most of them.”

“And the others?”

Kael exhaled through his nose, voice soft. “My father doesn’t. He knows I’m hiding something. But he also knows what it would look like to accuse his own son without proof.”

Rynaria turned toward the trees, the cold beginning to bite through her cloak. Lyana was out there, waiting with a route mapped and supplies packed. If Rynaria didn’t leave soon, her window would vanish—and with it, any hope of slipping away cleanly.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” she said again. Her voice cracked despite her effort to hold it steady.

“And yet,” Kael said, stepping forward, “I did.”

She felt him stop just short of her, close enough that his breath stirred the stray strands of hair peeking from her hood. The silence between them stretched, heavy with all the words they’d never spoken.

“I told myself this would be simple,” she whispered. “Get in, gather what I needed, get out. No entanglements.”

“And then we collided,” he said, voice low.

Rynaria closed her eyes. “I can’t stay.”

“I wouldn’t let you,” he said.

She opened her eyes. “Then why do this? Why take the risk?”

His answer came without hesitation. “Because you matter to me. And because I know you’re not just running. You’re trying to change something. You’re fighting for something bigger than either of us. And I…” His voice faltered, just for a moment. “I wanted to be part of that. Even if only for a breath.”

Her throat tightened.

Kael stepped back, severing the tension between them. He looked toward the town. “They’ll be watching the river trail by morning. You’ll have maybe twelve hours before the lie wears thin.”

Rynaria gave a small nod. Her hands still shook, though from cold or emotion, she couldn’t say.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for out there,” Kael said.

She turned to go.

Then stopped.

“I already did,” she said, without looking back.

And then she vanished into the trees.

---

The forest enveloped her in shadow and sound. Rynaria moved quickly, her boots finding the narrow deer path Lyana had shown her two nights prior, before everything had unraveled. Twigs snapped underfoot, leaves whispered with each step, and the wind tugged at her hood like it wanted her to turn back.

She didn’t.

But her pace slowed.

Kael’s words echoed in her chest, not her mind. That was the danger. He always spoke like he could see the future carved into her ribs. And every time she thought she could shut him out, he stepped closer. Reached farther.

“Fool,” she whispered to herself. “You should’ve burned this bridge weeks ago.”

Up ahead, a glimmer of movement caught her eye—Lyana. The elf was perched atop a mossy ridge, her cloak blending seamlessly with the underbrush. When Rynaria drew close, she dropped down silently and fell into step beside her.

“Any trouble?” Lyana asked without looking.

“No,” Rynaria said. “But he saw me off.”

Lyana’s jaw tensed. “He followed you?”

“No. I think… he said goodbye.”

For a long while, they didn’t speak. The two of them moved through the underbrush like ghosts, practiced in silence. Eventually, Lyana broke it.

“Will he hold the lie?”

Rynaria nodded. “He’s already woven it. Well enough to buy us the day.”

Lyana didn’t respond. Her focus was on the trail, on the faint flicker of foxfire fungi ahead that marked the edge of their safe passage. But Rynaria could feel her disapproval like a second shadow.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Rynaria muttered.

“No,” Lyana said. “It wasn’t.”

“I didn’t mean to get close to him.”

“You did.”

“I know.”

They reached the foot of the old causeway—a shattered stone bridge that had long since collapsed into a ravine. The faint sound of water echoed below, the river winding like a dark serpent between cliffs. Lyana crouched and pulled a coil of climbing rope from her satchel.

“We cross here,” she said. “The ridge trail on the other side will get us clear of the town’s patrol perimeter by morning.”

Rynaria took the rope in silence and began her descent. The cliff face was damp, but the handholds were solid. Halfway down, she paused, catching her breath. Behind her, the forest stretched black and endless. In the quiet, she swore she could still hear Kael’s voice—not words, but presence.

She grit her teeth and kept climbing.

They reached the far side and followed the ridge path in silence. Hours passed. The moon slipped westward. The path narrowed, hugging the edge of a steep drop. Somewhere far below, a wolf howled.

Only when they reached a clearing near the edge of the old watchtower ruins did Lyana stop. She dropped her satchel and sat cross-legged in the grass, eyes never leaving the trees behind them.

Rynaria finally spoke.

“Do you think I made a mistake?”

Lyana didn’t answer right away. Then: “Yes.”

Rynaria flinched.

“But,” Lyana added, “sometimes mistakes are just truths you weren’t ready to admit.”

Rynaria sank down beside her, her muscles aching from the climb and the run and the weight of everything left unsaid.

“If Kael falls because of me—”

“Then he chose that fall,” Lyana said firmly. “Don’t strip him of his agency just to ease your guilt.”

That silenced Rynaria. She stared out toward the dark horizon, where the mountains broke the skyline like teeth. Somewhere beyond them was the sanctuary her people had whispered about for generations. A place untouched by the war. If it existed.

“I hate this,” she said.

“So does he,” Lyana replied. “But he still gave you a head start.”

---

The fire was small—just enough to warm their fingers without drawing attention. Lyana had laid it beneath a half-collapsed stone arch, using old bricks and her cloak to funnel the smoke away into the trees. They didn’t plan to stay long.

Rynaria sat close to the flame, legs tucked beneath her, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The warmth soaked into her skin but did nothing for the chill inside her chest.

She didn’t speak, and neither did Lyana. The silence between them was companionable, like shared armor. They had trained together in the north—two of the only elven women who refused the politics of the court, who had chosen blades and shadows over silk and starlight.

But even Lyana’s presence couldn’t quiet the storm in Rynaria’s head.

At last, she broke the silence.

“Do you remember the river crossing? The first one, near the border camp?”

Lyana gave a slow nod. “Where you nearly got us both drowned.”

Rynaria managed a faint smile. “That wasn’t entirely my fault. The current shifted. The rope—”

“Snapped because someone didn’t check it for dry rot,” Lyana finished.

There was warmth in her voice, buried deep, but real. Rynaria held onto it like a rope in her own storm. She stared into the flames.

“That’s where I first saw him,” she said softly.

Lyana didn’t move, didn’t interrupt.

“I was hiding beneath the embankment, soaked and freezing. Watching the werewolf patrols pass overhead. He was the only one who didn’t look like he belonged. They were all rigid. Soldiers. But him… he looked like he was watching everything. Like he was wondering why he was even there.”

Lyana’s voice came after a moment. “And you chose him, then?”

“I didn’t choose anything,” Rynaria said. “I just… couldn’t stop noticing him.”

The wind shifted. The fire flickered low.

“I watched him for weeks after that,” she continued. “We kept crossing paths. At the market. At the outer fields. I told myself I was just gathering intelligence.”

Lyana said nothing. She didn’t need to.

Rynaria sighed. “He was the first one who saw me. Not as an elf. Not as a threat. Just… me.”

“And now he’s a liability,” Lyana said quietly.

Rynaria’s mouth twisted into something between a frown and a grimace. “He was never just a liability.”

“No. But now he’s in danger.”

“I know.”

The fire crackled. An owl called in the distance.

Rynaria finally turned away from the flames, staring into the darkness beyond. “Do you think he’ll survive this?”

Lyana’s tone was neutral. “He’s strong. Smart. But his strength lies in people, not politics. That makes him dangerous to the wrong kind of wolves.”

That was the truth of it. Kael wasn’t like the others. He didn’t claw for dominance or chase power. He tried to protect what he loved—even when it made him vulnerable.

Rynaria closed her eyes. “Then I should’ve never come here.”

“But you did.”

“And now he’s paying the price.”

Silence again.

Then Lyana said, softly, “Would you go back for him?”

The question hung there, heavier than the night.

“I can’t,” Rynaria said. “If I go back, I doom us both.”

“But if he falls—”

“I’ll carry that.”

Lyana nodded, then reached into her satchel and pulled out a small piece of cloth—a folded scrap of Kael’s sash. The one he’d worn every day, tucked into his belt. Rynaria recognized it instantly.

“He gave this to me,” Lyana said, placing it gently in Rynaria’s hands. “Said you might need a reminder of why you’re still running.”

Rynaria didn’t speak. She pressed the cloth to her chest, closed her eyes, and breathed deep.

The scent was still there.

Faint.

But real.

---

The fire had long since burned to coals when Lyana tapped Rynaria’s shoulder. Her hand was firm, but not panicked.

“Movement.”

Rynaria was instantly alert. She rose silently, cloak falling around her, and followed Lyana to the edge of the clearing. The trees stood like tall, watching sentries. Beyond them, the slope dipped into a shallow ravine where the old road once curved.

A faint rustle. Then another.

Not animal. Too controlled.

Rynaria’s breath slowed. She reached for the curved dagger strapped inside her cloak.

“Patrol?” she whispered.

Lyana nodded. “Five. Standard scout formation. Not Hollow—Kael’s father’s colors. I saw the sigil on the lead’s shoulder.”

Rynaria’s throat tightened.

“Already?” she whispered.

Lyana’s jaw tensed. “They must’ve split search routes. That was fast.”

“They weren’t supposed to find us this soon.”

“Guess someone didn’t buy the river trail.”

Rynaria scanned the treeline. The patrol wasn’t close enough to see yet, but they would be soon—too soon. She looked to Lyana. “We can’t outrun them. Not uphill.”

“No,” Lyana said, drawing her blade. “We make it look like we passed through hours ago. I’ll lead them off.”

Rynaria grabbed her arm. “No. That’s suicide.”

“I’ve done worse.”

“Not for me.”

Lyana’s eyes softened, but only for a heartbeat. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for what you represent.”

Before Rynaria could argue, Lyana slid away into the trees, vanishing like smoke.

Alone again, Rynaria gathered the coals from their fire in a piece of oilcloth and buried them beneath damp leaves. She brushed the ground clear of footprints with a pine bough, scattered their bedroll imprints, and packed fast.

Footsteps crunched on the ridge above.

She ducked behind the low stone outcrop, heart hammering in her chest.

A voice. Male. Young. “You sure they came this way?”

Another answered. “Tracks are faint. Could be old.”

“Alpha said the scent trail was recent.”

Kael’s father. He had ordered this.

Of course he had.

Rynaria stayed low, every muscle tight. The patrol fanned out above, scanning the forest with practiced eyes.

Then, a howl echoed to the east—long, sharp, and close enough to turn heads.

“That's not one of ours,” someone muttered.

“They’re trying to bait us.”

“Or warn us.”

Either way, the leader barked a command, and the group shifted—three heading toward the howl, two staying back to cover the path.

Rynaria waited, motionless.

One of the two stragglers paused near her hiding place, adjusting a strap on his bracer.

Just one more step, and he’d see her.

A twig snapped. Her breath caught.

But then—

A flash of motion. An arrow embedded in a nearby tree, drawing both men’s eyes.

“East ridge!” one shouted.

They ran.

Rynaria didn’t wait. She bolted in the opposite direction, weaving between trees, staying low, heart pounding like a war drum. She didn’t stop until the forest had swallowed her whole again, and the sounds of pursuit faded into memory.

---

By sunrise, she was deep in the hills, half-frozen, half-exhausted, and alone.

She collapsed beside a fallen log and stared up at the lightening sky. The clouds were thin, the first rays of day filtering through in fractured gold.

She should have felt free.

But all she felt was the weight of Kael’s sash, pressed to her chest.