Lucien’s expression was unreadable, but Seraphina could feel the tension rolling off him like the cold wind coming off the river. He crouched, running his fingers over the impressions in the snow. The footprints were large, each step measured, almost as though the person who made them had been waiting for them to arrive.

“Fresh,” he murmured. “No more than an hour old.”

A shiver ran through her. “Who would…?”

He straightened and cut her a sharp look. “Someone who knows what they are doing. Which means they know who I am.”

The air between them tightened. She could not decide which was worse—the thought of being hunted by strangers, or the idea that someone from his world was already here.

“Stay close,” he said, starting forward.

She followed him into the trees, her eyes darting between the dark trunks. Snow muffled their steps, but every crack of a branch or whisper of wind sounded unnaturally loud.

The trail led deeper into the forest until they came to a small clearing. In the center stood a man. His back was to them, but even from behind, Seraphina could see that he was tall, his posture unnervingly relaxed. His coat was long, black as coal, and the wind tugged faintly at its hem.

Lucien stopped, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade. “You should not have come here.”

The man turned slowly. His face was pale, his eyes a startling shade of amber that seemed almost to glow in the dim light. His smile was a thin, curved thing, neither warm nor friendly.

“I could say the same to you, brother,” he replied.

Seraphina froze. “Brother?”

Lucien’s voice was sharp. “Not by blood.”

The man stepped forward, his gaze sliding over to her. “Ah. So this is the one you have been hiding. She has a pulse. That’s unusual for you.”

Seraphina took a step back instinctively, but Lucien shifted to block the man’s view of her. “Leave her out of this.”

The amber-eyed man tilted his head. “You always were possessive. But you know how this ends, Lucien. The Council will not tolerate your… indulgence.”

“I am no longer bound to them,” Lucien said evenly.

The man’s smile widened slightly. “You say that as though it matters. You may run to the ends of the earth, but they will find you. And when they do, they will take her.”

Lucien’s voice dropped, low and dangerous. “They will have to kill me first.”

The man chuckled softly. “That can be arranged.”

In a movement almost too fast to follow, the man reached inside his coat and drew a slender, curved blade. Its edge shimmered faintly, not with steel, but with something darker—like the reflection of moonlight on black water.

Lucien’s blade was in his hand a heartbeat later.

The fight began without another word. They moved like shadows across the snow, steel meeting steel with a sound that cracked through the clearing. Each strike was precise, each step a dance of lethal intent.

Seraphina stood frozen at the edge, her breath clouding in the cold air. She could hardly follow their movements; they seemed to blur and vanish, appearing only when their blades met again.

Lucien’s opponent was fast, but Lucien was faster. Still, the amber-eyed man fought with the ease of someone who had lived with a sword in hand for centuries.

A sudden lunge drove Lucien back toward her. She caught the flash of the other man’s smile before he spun, forcing Lucien away again. Then, without warning, the stranger changed direction and came for her.

Seraphina stumbled backward, her boot catching on a root. Before she could fall, Lucien was between them, his blade slashing in a bright arc. The stranger’s blade caught the blow, and for a moment they were locked together, each pushing against the other with inhuman strength.

“You cannot keep her forever,” the amber-eyed man hissed.

Lucien’s eyes burned red. “Watch me.”

With a sharp twist, Lucien broke the lock and sent the man stumbling back a step. The stranger laughed under his breath, then lowered his weapon.

“This was only a message,” he said. “You have until the next moon. After that, she belongs to them.”

Before Lucien could respond, the man vanished. One blink and he was gone, leaving only the wind and the disturbed snow behind.

Seraphina’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. “Who was that?”

Lucien sheathed his blade, his expression still dark. “A ghost from a life I should have buried. And a warning we cannot ignore.”

He turned toward the deeper forest. “We move. Now.”

She followed, but the cold in her bones had nothing to do with the winter air.