The creatures move like shadows stitched to the sky.
I rise slowly, brushing dirt from my palms, never taking my eyes off them. There are six—no, seven—wings slicing the night in perfect formation. Too silent. Too deliberate. Predators that don't need to announce themselves.
A chill slides down my spine despite the heat simmering under my skin.
They aren't from this realm.I would know. The Flame inside me recoils, pulling backward like it recognizes them… or fears them.
That alone makes my pulse spike.
I narrow my eyes, focusing. The shapes are wrong—humanoid, but not. Their wings are long, jointed, gleaming faintly as if dipped in moonlit metal. Every few seconds, one tilts its head, scanning the ground below.
Hunting.
For what?For who?
My mark throbs hard enough to make me grit my teeth. It pulses in perfect rhythm with their flight, and for a breath I wonder—are they reacting to the bond? To him? To me?
No. No, I can't start thinking like that again.
A twig snaps behind me.
I spin, hand raised, flame coiling at my fingertips—before I realize it's only a stag. Skinny, trembling, nostrils flaring as it stares at me. Its eyes aren't on me though.
They're on the sky.
The creatures dip lower. The stag bolts. The forest holds its breath.
So do I.
One peels away from the formation.
My pulse stutters.
It glides downward, wings barely shifting, until it hovers above the treetops like a dark omen suspended between worlds. A faint glow flickers across its armor—yes, armor—and I can just make out the shape of its head. Smooth helmet. No eye slits. No mouth.
A thing made to hide its face.
My stomach knots.
It listens.
I don't know how I know that, but I feel it. The air itself grows taut, stretched thin as it turns. Searching. Waiting.
For sound. For movement.
For me.
I crouch low, pressing myself against the cold trunk of an ashwood tree. The Flame inside me is restless, swirling against my ribs, eager to lash out, to burn first, ask questions never. I force it down, swallowing the heat that crawls up my throat.
Not now.Not unless I have to.
The creature tilts its head. A sound vibrates through the night—low, metallic, like a blade dragged slowly across stone. I clamp a hand over my mouth to hide my breath.
The creature freezes.
Then—It turns sharply and shoots upward, rejoining the formation so fast the air cracks.
They wheel as one, banking toward the north.
Toward the ridge where the bond had flared.Toward the place where I first felt Kael's whisper.
My chest tightens.
They're not hunting beasts.They're tracking magic.My kind of magic.
And his.
My hand drifts to the mark on my wrist, still glowing faintly through the bandage.
If they reach that ridge…If they find what was left there…If they find the bond—
I curse under my breath.
I can't let them get there first.
Even if running to that ridge means running back into the one thing I've spent two years trying to escape.
Kael.
The bond throbs again—louder this time. Urgent.
I take off through the trees, feet slamming earth, branches tearing at my arms as I chase the creatures into the night.
Whatever waits at that ridge is calling.
And I'm done pretending I don't hear it.