The winter deepened, and with it, the unease in Håvardby. Jonas noticed it everywhere — in the slumped shoulders of the blacksmith's apprentice, in the hollowed cheeks of mothers whose children cried through the night, and in the jittery glances of those who once smiled freely. The village moved with a strange hesitation, as though the cold had seeped into their very marrow.
That evening, after leaving the tavern, Jonas carried a small bundle of bread and dried herbs. He intended to deliver it to Marta, the blacksmith's daughter, who had fallen ill in recent days. The path to her cottage cut through the edge of the forest narrower, quieter, and empty at this hour. He preferred it that way; in the open streets, he would be stopped by neighbors, asked idle questions he could not answer. Here, he could move alone, thinking, observing, listening.
The snow muffled his steps, and the moon traced silver paths over the white landscape. Jonas had almost reached the clearing near the forest's edge when he heard the soft crunch of other footsteps. Before he could look up, she was there.
Astrid emerged from the trees as if conjured by the moonlight itself. Her dark cloak trailed over the snow, and her golden hair shimmered pale against the night. A smile curved her lips sharp, knowing, predatory.
"Jonas," she said, her voice low and musical. "Out walking alone? Brave, in nights like these."
He inclined his head politely. "Yes. I wanted to see her before she worsens. The village… it's not well."
Her gaze lingered, unblinking, unsettling in its intensity. "And have you noticed, truly, Jonas? The way the villagers weaken. Dreams that leave them screaming. Children awake at night, shaking. The men dropping tools like their arms have forgotten strength."
Jonas tensed. "You speak as though you know what is happening."
Her smile widened. "Perhaps I do. Perhaps I watch where others cannot. Or perhaps I am what watches." Her tone was teasing, almost intimate, yet laced with menace.
He swallowed, unease crawling up his spine. "Are you… threatening me?"
Astrid stepped closer, circling him, the snow crunching softly beneath her boots. "Not a threat. A kindness. Stay close to your hearth. Keep your eyes open, but not too close. Some things, Jonas, are best left unseen. Curiosity can make a man prey. And some prey…" Her eyes slid toward the village in the distance. "Some prey do not last long."
Jonas felt a cold pulse in his chest, though the air was still. Her words clung to him, more chilling than the winter wind. She laughed softly, a whisper curling around him, then slipped silently back into the shadows of the trees.
Jonas stood alone, the bundle of bread and herbs heavy in his hands. His thoughts went to Sarah, and a fear he could not name tightened around his ribs. The forest felt too quiet, too still. Whatever lingered here, whatever Astrid hinted at, was beyond his understanding and yet, he felt it brushing against him, like a shadow waiting to pounce.
He turned toward Marta's cottage, walking faster now, the sense of dread mixing with a determination he could not explain. Something was wrong in Håvardby. Something he could not see. And Sarah… she was somehow at the center of it.