The world came back in fragments—sound first. The distant crackle of fire. The whisper of leaves. A soft, rhythmic thud that matched the pain in my skull.

I opened my eyes to darkness. My wrists were bound, the rope biting into already bruised skin. A damp scent filled the air—moss, pine, and something coppery. Blood. My blood.

Panic swelled, but I forced myself to breathe. In, out. I couldn’t lose control. Not now. Whoever had taken me had wanted me alive. That meant I still had a ...