I woke to the thin gray light of dawn pressing through the cracks in the cabin walls. My teeth still chattered from the river crossing, but the night's panic had dulled into a heavy ache in my limbs.

I sat up slowly, rubbing at the raw skin on my arms. Everything hurt. My feet were numb. My throat felt tight from breathing cold air for hours.

But I was alive.

Alive in a timeline where I wasn't yet claimed, caged, or condemned.

I pushed myself to my feet and peered out a narrow gap in the wall. Mist clung to the marsh, thick and quiet. No torches. No riders. No sign of pursuit.

They must have turned back before reaching the water.

Good.

I wrapped my arms around myself. First priority: warmth.

Second: food.

Third: find a place to hide long-term.

In my first life, I survived on fear.

In this one, I needed strategy.

I stepped outside, careful not to snap the rotting wood under my feet. The morning chill cut straight through my damp clothes. I scanned the treeline, listening.

Only birdsong.

I crouched beside a patch of tall grasses, searching the ground for anything useful. A few edible roots still grew here. I dug some up, wiped the dirt off, and forced myself to eat slowly.

My stomach twisted-too much tension, too little food-but I needed the strength.

When I finished, I wiped my hands on the grass and stood.

The kingdom was huge. Draven's men couldn't search every corner, not for one runaway girl. But they'd sweep the roads, the villages, the riverbanks.

I needed to disappear where no one would think to look.

The eastern mountains.

Abandoned wolf lands.

No patrols. Few travelers. Dangerous terrain-but safer than Draven.

My heart hammered at the thought of him.

The coldness in his eyes as he put a blade through me.

The flat, emotionless way he said, "Traitors don't get second chances."

I swallowed hard.

"I'm not giving you a first one this time," I whispered.

Wind stirred the marsh grass. Somewhere distant, a raven cawed.

I stepped back into the cabin, grabbed a long fallen branch to use as a walking stick, and tightened the torn edges of my nightshirt into knots at my waist.

It wouldn't last long. I'd need clothing, supplies, anything I could scavenge.

But for now, I moved.

One step out of the cabin.

Then another.

Then deeper into the marsh, towards the one future I refused to repeat.

Two hours into my trek, I found them.

Rider tracks.

Deep grooves in the mud, fresh and sharp. The prints curved along the higher ground-meaning they had searched closer to the marsh than I thought.

My pulse spiked.

I crouched low, scanning the area. The tracks moved south, toward the main road. They hadn't crossed into the marsh itself. Good.

But if they were expanding their search radius...

It meant Draven wasn't giving up.

The realization slithered coldly down my spine.

I forced myself to keep moving, carefully stepping only where the mud was firm enough not to leave prints. My legs trembled from exhaustion, but I pushed forward.

The marsh thinned into dense forest by midday. Shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy, warming my skin just enough to stop the shivering.

I paused by a fallen log and peeled my wet nightshirt away from my arms. It had dried unevenly-stiff in some places, still damp in others.

I wrinkled my nose.

If I had to meet anyone like this, I'd look like a half-drowned ghost.

My stomach tightened at the thought of meeting anyone. I couldn't trust villagers-not when rumors about a "marked girl" would spread fast.

I needed solitude. Distance. Quiet.

I pushed deeper into the woods.

Birds scattered as I passed. Branches crackled under my feet. The faint hum under my skin flickered again-like a heartbeat that wasn't entirely mine.

But nothing else happened. No visions. No surges. No bond tugging.

Good.

The less fate stirred, the better.

By late afternoon, I found a small stream and knelt to drink. The cold water soothed my dry throat. I splashed some on my face, scrubbing away dried mud and leaves.

My reflection wavered in the ripples-tired eyes, tangled hair, dirt streaking my cheeks.

Pitiful.

But alive.

As I pushed back to my feet, the faint crunch of leaves snapped through the trees.

I froze.

Not horses.

Not riders.

Footsteps.

Someone-on foot-moving cautiously.

Too close.

I ducked behind a tree, pressing my back to the bark. My breath went thin and silent.

The footsteps drew nearer.

Closer.

Then a voice-young, hesitant.

"...Hello?"

My heart jumped painfully.

Not a rider.

Not a soldier.

A child.

I peeked around the trunk.

A boy, maybe ten years old, stood at the edge of the stream with a fishing pole over his shoulder. He wore patchy clothes and no shoes, his hair sticking up wildly.

He scanned the trees with wide, unsure eyes.

"Is someone there?"

I swallowed.

I could step out. Ask for help. Beg for food or directions.

But the wrong word could ruin everything. Kids talked. Parents listened. Villagers gossiped.

And one whisper reaching the wrong ears could send soldiers straight to me.

I held my breath as the boy slowly backed away, eyes still darting through the trees.

When he disappeared down a narrow trail, I sagged against the bark.

Too close.

I couldn't risk running into anyone again.

I turned away from the stream and headed toward the darker part of the woods, where fewer people walked and more predators roamed.

Predators were easier to deal with than kings.

By evening, the temperature dropped sharply. My breath puffed in the air as I trudged through underbrush thick with frost.

Ahead, a rocky incline rose sharply. I could climb it tonight or wait until morning.

But stopping meant cold.

Cold meant weakness.

Weakness meant capture.

I started climbing.

Halfway up, the hum under my skin sparked once more-stronger this time, but still not painful. A flick of warmth. A warning. A sense of... awareness.

I froze mid-step.

The forest behind me had gone unnaturally quiet.

No birds.

No wind.

No rustle of leaves.

Just the faint, distant echo of something moving... too large, too heavy to be human.

A predator.

I gripped the rock edge, heart thundering.

In my first life, I rarely encountered wild wolves-they avoided anyone carrying a scent tied to the Alpha King. But now, my scent was unclaimed. Ordinary.

And ordinary prey attracted attention.

Carefully, slowly, I pulled myself up the next ledge and pressed my body against the stone. My breath fogged the air.

The sound grew louder-soft pads on leaves, a low rumble of breath.

I closed my eyes.

Keep going, I whispered to myself.

Don't look. Don't run. Running invites the chase.

I climbed one more foothold. Another.

A sharp crack echoed below.

My blood froze.

The creature had stepped on a branch. Deliberate. Too close.

I clung to the rock, lungs burning.

Then-

A growl.

Deep. Warning. Near the base of the cliff.

I forced myself not to look. Not to scream. Not to slip.

The hum inside me flickered again-heat pooling low in my chest, bright and soft.

Not shifting.

Not awakening.

Just-fear sharpening my instincts.

The growl faded after a moment, replaced by the thump of retreating steps.

Only when silence returned did I let myself breathe.

I climbed the final stretch and pulled myself onto the plateau. My arms trembled so hard I nearly collapsed.

I lay there for a long time, staring at the sky turning purple with dusk.

"I won't die this time," I whispered to the fading sun. "Not by kings. Not by fate. Not by anything."

And the woods held their silence, as if listening.