“Then we make it better. Set up early warnings. Plan escape routes. Give ourselves every advantage we can.”
He nods. Starts toward the door.
And stops.
His whole body goes rigid. The scars on his arms flare—not the dim glow I’ve grown used to, but a sharp, bright surge of crimson.
“What—”
“Blood-wards.” His voice drops to almost nothing. “In the distance. They just flared.”
I cross to the window. Peer through the gaps in the warped boards.
The horizon glows.
Not dawn—it’s too early for that, and the wrong direction anyway. This is something else. A shimmer in the air maybe a mile out, maybe less. The residual blood-ward network that extends beyond the Vale’s borders, used for tracking, for communication.
For hunting.
“The Matron’s people.” My blood runs cold. “They’ve found us.”
“Not yet.” Kharvek moves to the door. Scans the darkness beyond. “The flare was a ranging signal. They know our approximate location. They’re narrowing it down.”
“How long?”
“Hours. Maybe less.”
Hours. We have hours until the hunters arrive, and Kharvek can barely use his magic without risking self-destruction.
“Wake the others.” I grab Dena’s shoulder, shake her gently. She blinks awake, confusion clouding her face. “We need to move.”
“What’s happening?”
“Bad people are coming.” I help her to her feet, press the button-eyed doll into her hands. “We’re going to run again. Can you do that?”
She nods. Small. Scared. Trusting me to keep her safe when I’m not sure I can keep anyone safe anymore.
The other survivors stumble upright, registering the urgency in our movements. They don’t ask questions. They’ve learned not to ask questions.
Kharvek appears in the doorway. “There’s a ravine half a mile north. Deep enough to break line of sight. If we move now?—”
“Your arm.”
“Will hold.” His gaze meets mine. “I won’t let them take any of you. Whatever it costs.”
I want to argue. Want to remind him that he’s not expendable, that his life matters beyond his usefulness as a weapon, that I didn’t kiss him just to watch him burn himself out protecting us.
But there’s no time. No time for arguments, no time for careful plans, no time for anything except running.
“Stay close,” I tell Dena. “Don’t let go of my hand.”
She grabs on with fingers that tremble.
We slip out into the darkness, leaving the farmstead behind, heading north toward a ravine I can only hope will save us.
Behind us, the horizon continues to glow. The hunters are coming.
And Kharvek is wounded, I’m exhausted, and all we have between us and the Matron’s wrath is a handful of terrified survivors and whatever desperate measures we can improvise.
