A few hours later.

The northern cliffs rose like jagged teeth against the horizon, their peaks dusted in snow, their caves carved out by centuries of storms. Perfect for hiding. Perfect for regrouping.

Xander’s team had set up a rough camp inside one of the larger hollows—stone walls muffling the wind, firelight flickering against damp rock. It wasn’t luxury, but it was shelter. And it was far enough from the castle that the Queen’s spies shouldn’t have reached us yet.

Or so I ...