The shadows of the Deadmore Forest loomed, thick and heavy like a shroud made of charcoal and ancient grief. The trees here were not of the living world; their trunks were gnarled, petrified wood, and their leaves were black, weeping needles that whispered with the voices of those who had vanished within the canopy centuries ago.
Hebner Grand moved with a cold, mechanical efficiency. He ignored Hannah's frantic, breathless pleas, his hands working with the precision of a butcher. He dragged her toward a towering, skeletal tree whose roots clawed at the earth like the fingers of a buried giant. Using a length of enchanted, coarse hemp that glowed with a faint, violet rot, he lashed her wrists above her head, binding her firmly to the jagged bark.
