Gregor’s POV

Dawn came slow — the kind of gray, shivering light that doesn’t warm you, only reminds you you’re still alive. The storm had passed, but its memory lingered in the trees. The forest breathed around us — damp, heavy with mist, the scent of moss and wet bark thick in the air. Water dripped from the cliffs, trickling into the ravine below where the river still hissed from last night’s flood.

Marigold walked ahead of me, her hair still damp, her scent tangled with earth, ...