GATHERING THE PACKSThe small cabin was warm, smelling of pine needles and the soup simmering on the stove, but the air felt thin. It was the kind of warmth you try to memorise because you know you’re about to leave it for a long time.

Esmeralda stood by the heavy wooden table, folding a thick wool cloak. Her movements were slow. She smoothed the fabric over and over again, her mind miles away at the border she had seen in her vision.

"You’ve folded that three times now," Demetrius said ...