Aslann Pov.

The mist rolled low over the ground, curling between my boots like pale smoke. The satchel at my side was heavy with the rare herbs I’d risked my neck for — feverfew, wild valerian, and a handful of goldenroot that would keep our wounded alive for another month.

One last ridge, and I’d be back in rogue territory. Safe.

Or so I thought.

The faint crunch of grass behind me made me still. The sound was too deliberate, too steady to be the wind or some wandering animal. My ...