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.

Dawn crept over the mountains in pale gold streaks, warming nothing, simply revealing how cold everything had become in the night. I woke with a stiff neck, frozen toes, and a deep ache in my stomach that reminded me I hadn't eaten since the bitter berries near the stream.

My throat felt scraped raw.

I needed water.

Even from atop the plateau, I could hear the faint murmur of a stream somewhere below-a thin trickle weaving through stones. The sound tugged at me, a fragile promise in the quiet morning.

I crawled out of the hollow between the boulders, stretching my sore limbs. The air bit at my skin the moment I stepped into the open, and I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing warmth into my shoulders.

The plateau glittered with frost.

My breath formed pale clouds.

It looked peaceful.

Calm.

As if the world below wasn't searching for me.

As if the Alpha King wasn't scouring his kingdom for a girl he hadn't even met in this life.

I descended the rocky slope slowly, wincing with every step. My feet were cracked from the cold, and the sharp ground stung with each shift of weight. Even so, I forced myself down toward the sound of water.

Survival meant pain.

But pain meant I was still alive.

When I reached the tree line again, the forest wrapped around me in thick, familiar shadows. Pines towered overhead, their needles dripping with morning dew. Moss covered the ground in patches, soft and forgiving.

I listened-long, careful breaths.

No voices.

No horses.

No metallic clink of rider armor.

Finally, I crouched near the stream-a narrow ribbon of icy water running clear over small stones. I cupped my hands and drank greedily. Cold rushed down my throat, shocking the dryness away. I splashed more water on my face and neck, gasping as the chill jolted me awake.

When the dizziness faded, I knelt back and scanned the area. The forest here was denser than the lower woods, full of tangled bushes, fallen trees, and thick underbrush.

Perfect for hiding.

Terrible for travel.

I needed food next. My stomach twisted sharply, reminding me that berries wouldn't sustain me for long.

I scanned the forest floor, searching for anything familiar: mushrooms, roots, herbs. The healers in the castle had taught me enough to keep me alive-but only enough to avoid poisoning myself. They never taught us sustaining survival.

We were pampered prisoners, not soldiers.

I hated that thought.

I brushed it away and moved deeper into the forest.

The sunlight filtered through the canopy in scattered beams. I reached a patch of thorn bushes and carefully pushed leaves aside, looking for edible shoots or berries.

Instead, the thorns bit into my fingers.

I hissed and pulled back quickly, sucking on the tiny cut at my fingertip. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

"Careless," I muttered under my breath. "You know better."

The thorn bush seemed to mock me with its harsh silence.

I stepped around it and followed the stream's edge. Eventually, I found small patches of wild sorrel near the roots of an old oak tree. Bitter, but safe to eat. I gathered what I could and ate slowly-forcing each mouthful down despite the sharp tang.

As I chewed, I looked around again, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting.

Something felt... wrong.

Not dangerous.

Not threatening.

Just... off.

It was the silence.

No birdsong.

No rustling.

No distant cracking of branches.

The forest was listening.

Watching.

I backed away from the stream, senses sharp. The hum under my skin flickered again-soft, quick, like a heartbeat stuttering. Not a shift. Not an awakening.

Just instinct.

I scanned the forest carefully, expecting a rider or a wolf or even a bear to emerge from the trees.

Nothing.

I exhaled, long and steady.

"You're jumpy," I whispered to myself. "Good. Stay that way."

I followed the stream uphill, the terrain growing steeper with each step. My legs burned. My breath grew ragged. But the forest began to sound normal again-birds calling, wind moving through branches, small animals scampering through leaves.

The wrongness faded.

By midday, I reached a cluster of boulders that created a natural overlook. I used the walking stick I'd found in the marsh to brace myself and climbed up.

When I looked down, my breath caught.

From this height, I could see the lower forests where I'd escaped. Tiny patches of smoke rose through the trees-campfires from search parties fanned out across the kingdom.

Draven's riders.

They were sweeping wider today.

Much wider.

I sank to my knees, gripping the stone until my fingers ached.

He was searching harder.

Expanding range.

Sending more men.

Was it because of the prophecy?

Because of the mark?

Because fate still pulled us like invisible strings?

Or because in this timeline, I ran-and he wanted what he couldn't find?

My stomach tightened painfully.

I forced myself to stand.

Staring at the plumes of smoke wouldn't help me.

I needed distance.

Higher ground.

Safe spots.

Food sources.

Escape routes.

And above all-

I needed to stay unpredictable.

I started walking again. The sun began to lower in the sky, turning the forest gold. By the time I found another decent resting place-a sheltered spot under the roots of a massive pine-my feet were bleeding and my arms were scraped raw.

I curled up in the cramped shelter, hugging myself for warmth. The night would fall cold again, but I knew now that the forest's voice changed with danger. I would listen to it.

I would survive this.

I had to.

Draven might have the kingdom, the armies, the power, the prophecy...

But I had something I'd never had before:

Time.

And I wasn't wasting a second of it.

By the next morning, hunger gnawed at me like a living thing. Not the dull ache of missing a meal, but the deep, hollow kind that left my hands shaking and my mind drifting in and out of focus.

I needed proper food.

Not bitter leaves.

Not scraps of roots.

Something with substance-something my body could store.

I followed the stream deeper into the woods, hoping to find a larger clearing, or signs of wild fruit. The forest shifted around me as I walked-pines thinning into maple and birch, needles giving way to soft, rotting leaves. The air smelled richer here, warmer, with the faint hint of life hidden beneath winter's early breath.

As I rounded a bend in the trail, my breath stopped.

A thick cluster of bushes filled a small clearing, each one heavy with dark purple berries glistening under the early sunlight.

My knees nearly buckled from relief.

I moved toward them slowly, scanning the ground first. No animal tracks. No broken branches. No signs of recent foraging.

I reached out, plucked one berry, and examined it carefully. Smooth skin. Slightly oval shape. No white sap. No sharp, almond-like scent.

Safe.

My stomach made a desperate noise, and I didn't wait any longer. I popped the berry into my mouth.

The taste burst bitter and sweet across my tongue, the acidity making my eyes water. But hunger overpowered everything. I grabbed another handful and ate them slowly, focusing on the rhythm of chewing instead of letting myself devour too fast.

My body felt greedy, but I forced myself to pace each bite.

When I finally stopped, I sat on the ground, leaning back on my elbows as I breathed through the unfamiliar feeling of actually being full again-at least for now.

As the dizziness faded, a soft rustle stirred on the opposite side of the clearing.

I froze.

My heart thudded painfully as I pushed myself up onto my elbows, breath caught in my throat.

The bushes shifted again.

Not a rider.

Not a wolf.

Too light. Too cautious.

A small deer stepped out, its coat dappled with sunlight, ears flicking nervously as it scanned the air.

I stayed completely still.

The deer turned its head toward me. For a moment, our eyes met. Wide, dark, uncertain.

Animals never approached me this closely before-not in my last life. They always sensed the scent of Draven's court on me. The throne room. The warriors. The metallic tang of steel and power.

Even when I scrubbed myself raw, the smell clung.

But now...

The deer took a small, tentative step toward the berry bushes, keeping me in sight the entire time.

I lowered my gaze slightly, not wanting to intimidate it. My pulse softened as I watched it nibble the berries, its delicate jaw working gently.

Something inside my chest loosened.

A knot made of years of fear.

Memories of being "watched" by the castle wolves, their eyes sharp with a knowledge I didn't understand.

This was the first creature in a long time that didn't recoil from me.

For a moment, I let myself breathe.

The deer flicked an ear once, then darted away with a soft thud of hooves.

When the clearing fell quiet again, I swallowed the tightness rising in my throat.

Being treated like prey... was nothing new.

But finally not being treated like a threat?

That was new.

I wiped berry juice from my fingers, leaving faint stains on my skin.

If animals weren't avoiding me, then Draven would sense nothing unusual either. That was a small blessing. His palace hounds could track a scent across frozen rivers and snowstorms. If I carried even a whisper of his aura, his men would've found me already.

But I wasn't connected to him yet.

Not marked. Not claimed.

I was just one girl among thousands.

My hands trembled with the weight of that relief.

I gathered more berries into a piece of my torn nightshirt, tying the fabric into a makeshift pouch. As I worked, I kept scanning the trees, trying to shake off the eerie stillness that had crept in since the deer left.

The silence returned.

But not entirely unnatural this time.

More like the forest was settling again.

I stood, slinging the berry pouch over my shoulder, and prepared to leave the clearing-but then I paused.

Something was off.

A small detail.

A prickling sensation along my arms.

There-on the ground near the far bushes-was a patch of freshly turned earth.

Not from deer hooves.

Too precise.

A hand dug that.

My breath lodged in my throat.

Someone else had been here recently.

Not long ago.

My eyes swept the clearing more carefully. A snapped twig. A small indentation in the soft soil. A faint track-human or not, I couldn't tell.

I backed away slowly, each step deliberate. My fingers tightened around the walking stick as I retreated into thicker trees.

For a long moment, I stood hidden, watching the clearing.

Nothing moved.

No shadow. No breath of wind. No watching eyes.

But that patch of disturbed soil wouldn't leave my mind.

Someone was here.

Someone else living-or hiding-in these mountains.

Not the Alpha King's riders.

Someone who knew how to move silently.

Someone who dug into the earth with their hands.

My pulse quickened.

This valley wasn't as empty as I'd hoped.

I tightened my grip on my walking stick and turned back toward the thicker forest. Survival meant adjusting to new truths quickly.

I wasn't alone.

And that meant I needed to be even more careful.

Even more silent.

Even more unpredictable.

With my berry pouch bouncing lightly at my hip, I slipped back into the shadows of the trees, never letting my steps fall too loud.

The forest around me whispered nothing, but my instincts screamed the truth:

I was being watched.