Morning came slowly, creeping in through the broken shutters in thin bands of pale light. The warmth from the hearth had long faded, leaving the air cool and still. Seraphina stirred beneath the rough blanket, her body reluctant to leave the meager comfort of the bed.

Across the room, Lucien was already awake. He sat at the table, leaning slightly forward with his hands clasped, his gaze fixed on something unseen. The firelight from last night had softened his features, but in daylight the sharpness returned, and with it the sense of danger that seemed to cling to him.

She pushed herself upright. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough,” he said without looking at her. “We need to move.”

Seraphina swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Did something happen?”

His eyes finally met hers. “Not yet. But there is a change in the wind. Something is coming.”

A flicker of unease passed through her. “You mean… someone is following us?”

“I mean,” he said, standing, “that I can feel them. Close enough to be a shadow.”

He crossed the room and began packing the few supplies they had taken from the city. His movements were swift and economical, each motion purposeful. She followed his lead, folding the blanket and slipping into her cloak. The memory of last night lingered, warm and unsettling, but there was no trace of it in his expression now. He had closed himself off completely.

When they stepped outside, the world was covered in a thin layer of snow. It lay fresh over the road and fields, muting the sound of their footsteps. The air was sharp in her lungs, and every exhale formed a small cloud.

They walked in silence for nearly an hour before the stillness broke. From somewhere behind them came the faint crunch of movement. Seraphina turned sharply, scanning the empty road.

“I hear it,” Lucien murmured. “Do not stop walking.”

Her pulse quickened. She obeyed, keeping her gaze forward, though every instinct screamed at her to look.

The sound came again—closer this time. Then a low growl split the silence.

Lucien’s hand closed around hers. “Run.”

They bolted down the road, snow spraying beneath their boots. The growl became a chorus, and the pounding of feet followed. She risked a glance over her shoulder and caught sight of them—three shapes, massive and fast, cutting through the snow like predators through water. Their eyes glowed faintly in the dim morning light.

“Wolves?” she gasped.

“Not wolves,” Lucien said grimly. “Hounds. Bound to blood.”

She did not understand, but the look on his face told her enough. They were not animals that could be frightened away.

The road ahead forked, one path leading deeper into the woods. Lucien veered sharply toward it, pulling her after him. Branches clawed at their clothes as they plunged into the trees. The growls behind them grew louder.

Suddenly Lucien stopped. He turned to face the oncoming hounds, drawing the blade from his coat. The metal gleamed even in the muted light, and the air seemed to grow colder around it.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

The first hound burst into view, a monstrous thing with fur matted dark and teeth bared. Lucien moved with inhuman speed, the blade cutting a silver arc through the air. The creature yelped, stumbling back into the snow.

Two more followed, circling. Their eyes were fixed on Seraphina now, glowing with unnatural hunger.

She took a step back, but Lucien shifted with them, placing himself firmly between her and their line of attack. When one lunged, he sidestepped and brought the blade down, the strike so swift it barely disturbed the air.

The fight was brutal and short. When the last hound lay still, steam rising from its body in the cold air, Lucien lowered his weapon and turned to her. His eyes were darker now, the faint ring of red glimmering beneath the gray.

“You are unharmed?” he asked.

She nodded, though her legs trembled. “What were they?”

“Servants,” he said. “Sent to draw blood, to track us. Whoever commands them will know they have failed. That buys us time, but not much.”

She glanced down at the snow. It was streaked with red where the hounds had fallen, the color vivid against the pale white.

Lucien wiped his blade clean on the nearest drift before sliding it back into its sheath. “We keep moving. No more stopping until we reach the river.”

They walked for hours, the cold pressing against their skin, the forest growing denser around them. Seraphina kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting more shapes to emerge from the trees.

When the sound of rushing water finally reached her ears, relief flooded her. The river was wide, its surface broken by chunks of ice drifting slowly downstream. A narrow wooden bridge stretched across, its planks worn and weathered.

Lucien paused before stepping onto it. “Once we cross, the trail will be harder to follow.”

She followed him to the other side, her boots slipping slightly on the frosted boards. As they stepped onto solid ground again, Lucien stopped abruptly.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He did not answer immediately. His gaze was fixed on the snow ahead of them, where a single set of footprints waited. The prints were deep and deliberate, as though the person who made them wanted to be found.

Lucien’s jaw tightened. “We are not alone.”