Caius could make out figures as he rode deeper into the woods. Just how far did she go? He had lost count of how many times Rose had screamed. This wasn't completely true—Caius knew exactly how many he'd heard, and with every scream, the fear he felt worsened.
He pushed the horse, not caring if it couldn't go any faster. As Caius got close, his eyes moved around, trying to find her. His gaze zoned in on a figure folded on the cold ground, her red hair scattered over her body.
His eyes darkened as he got closer, and Caius was already reaching for his sword. He turned his eyes to the bandits, and then everything slowed. Caius could count five men standing, ready to attack him—but that wasn't what made him pause.
No.
It was the figure standing only a few feet away from Rose with a sneer on his face. Caius would recognize that scar anywhere. After all, he was the one who gave it to him.
