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.

Night wrapped itself around the mountains like a second skin, cold and absolute, the kind of darkness that swallowed sound and made the world feel older than it was. My fingers were numb by the time I reached the top of the plateau, but exhaustion wasn't enough to stop fear from dragging me forward.

The plateau stretched wide-a flat expanse of stone and low brush lit only by thin moonlight. Up here, the air tasted different. Sharper. Cleaner. Every breath felt like it scraped the inside of my chest.

But it was open.

Exposed... but open.

I could see everything around me: the curve of the forest below, the faint outline of foothills beyond that, the distant shimmer of the river I had crossed. No riders. No torches. No sudden movements in the trees.

Just space.

Space to think.

Space to plan.

Space to breathe without the weight of Draven's shadow pressing against the back of my skull.

I walked across the plateau carefully, my feet aching with every step. My nightshirt-once soft, now torn and stiff with mud-whipped around my legs each time the wind cut across the stone.

Halfway across, I paused.

The stone beneath my feet was etched with shallow grooves-long, deep scratches that dragged in parallel lines across the plateau. Not natural erosion. Not wind patterns.

Claw marks.

My stomach tightened, but I forced myself not to back away. They weren't fresh. The edges were dulled, softened by time. Wolves hunted in these mountains, and some were bigger than the forest wolves near the villages.

It didn't matter.

A wolf was easier to face than Draven.

I finally found shelter near two massive boulders leaning against each other like ancient guardians. A narrow gap at their base formed a shallow hollow-just barely big enough for me to crawl inside.

I edged in slowly, ignoring how my scraped arms burned. Inside, the air was cold but still. Protected. The stone felt like it pressed the world out and left me suspended in a fragile pocket of safety.

I curled up, hugging my knees to my chest.

Only then did the shaking begin.

It crawled up my spine, into my jaw, into the chattering of my teeth. Whether from cold or fear, I didn't know.

Maybe both.

I had escaped the first wave of riders.

I had crossed a river in freezing darkness.

I had climbed a mountain until my legs nearly gave out.

But the truth settled like iron in my bones:

This was only the beginning.

Draven would not abandon a search once he began it. When the Moon Tyrant wanted something, he would raze villages and pull down mountains until he had it in his hands.

I had seen that.

Lived it.

Died because of it.

A faint, unsteady laugh slipped out of me-or maybe it was a broken breath.

"I'm alive," I whispered into the hollow darkness. "I'm actually alive."

Not a prisoner.

Not a sacrifice.

Not a condemned woman awaiting her execution.

Alive.

But the night didn't care.

It didn't answer.

It didn't comfort.

The hum beneath my skin stirred again-soft, faint, like a spark warming the edge of a dying fire. Not awakening. Not shifting. Just... awareness.

I pressed my hand against my chest.

"Stay quiet," I murmured. "Please... just stay quiet."

If anything inside me changed too drastically, if fate twisted too sharply, Draven would feel it. I didn't know how-but I remembered that moment years from now, when he once said he could sense the presence of "his marked" across miles.

I thought it was arrogance.

Now I wasn't so sure.

I stayed awake for a long time, watching the slice of moonlight that seeped through the boulder gap. When sleep finally dragged me under, I dreamed of nothing but cold stone and distant footsteps.

And for the first time since waking in my childhood bed, I didn't dream of dying.