Another step. The log creaks. The ice shifts below, a grinding sound like teeth. I clench my jaw, move again, breath sharp in my chest.
Halfway across, my boot skids.
The world tilts. The fog, the cliff, the water—all of it spins. My arms pinwheel, a scream tearing from my throat. The river opens below me, black jaws waiting to swallow me whole.
And then he’s there.
Kragna’s hands clamp around my waist, strong and hot even through layers of fabric. He yanks me upright with impossible speed, hauling me against his chest before gravity can claim me. The log groans, ice splinters under us, but he holds steady, unshakable as stone.
For one breathless moment, I’m pressed to him, every muscle tight, his heat bleeding through me. His face is inchesfrom mine, eyes glowing like embers through fog. His breath ghosts across my cheek, warm and rough.
My heart goes wild. Too loud. Too fast.
I forget the cold. Forget the river. There’s only him, the heavy weight of his gaze, his claws gentle where they grip me, careful as if I’m glass.
The moment stretches, fragile and dangerous.
I shove it away.
“Let go,” I mutter, too sharp, too quick. My voice is thin, brittle, but it’s all I have.
He blinks once, then releases me. The warmth of him lingers even as the air rushes back, cold and merciless.
I step off the log fast, almost stumbling onto the bank, pretending like nothing happened. Like the world didn’t stop spinning for a heartbeat. Like I didn’t just almost die—and like being caught didn’t shake me more than the fall would’ve.
He stays on the far side a moment, watching me with that unreadable expression, then follows. His hooves crunch frost. He doesn’t say a word.
Neither do I.
But my skin still burns where he touched me, and no amount of cold air will put that fire out.
The silence after the river crossing is thick. My boots crunch frost and my breath fogs the air, but all I can hear is the echo of his hands on my waist, the way the world narrowed down to nothing but heat and heartbeat. I don’t want to think about it. I can’t.
That’s when the air shudders with a snap of webbing, and Charen drops down from the fog above like a bad dream made flesh. Her little spider body skitters on the ice-crusted ground, her human-shaped face grinning too wide.
“Well, if it isn’t the happy couple,” she sings, voice sharp as broken glass. “Thought I’d check in before you two start rutting on the trail. You’re welcome.”
“Go away,” I snap, fingers twitching toward my rifle.
Charen cackles, silk threads still clinging to her as she shakes herself. “Can’t. Got news. Scouts. Dark elves, maybe twenty of ’em, combing the ridge two gullies over. Heading this way.”
My blood goes hot, then cold. I see my squad again—blood, bone, screaming cut short. Ogres laughing. Boots smashing into dirt that never gave their lives back.
I force the words out. “Which house?”
She shrugs, casual. “Didn’t stop to ask, darling. But they’re armed to the teeth, hungry for trouble. Thought you’d want to know before they painted this mountain with your guts.”
Kragna steps forward, looming, his voice deep. “We detour. Give ’em wide ground. No sense stirrin’ a nest we don’t need to.”
“No.” The word cuts out of me like a knife. “We find them.”
Both of them look at me.
“Girl’s gone mad,” Charen says cheerfully, licking a fang. “Finally broke, eh?”
Kragna’s brows knit, his eyes narrowing. “Why in the frozen hell would wefindthem?”
“Because it might be them.” My voice cracks like ice, sharp and thin. “The unit that sent the ogres. The ones that slaughtered my people.”
