Still no answer. Just the echo of her name swallowed by trees and wind.
But I’m already moving. My slippers slap the path, breath heaving as I break into a run. Instinct drives me forward, faster than I thought I could go.
Branches scrape at my arms as I tear through the trees, fear surging behind my ribs, Alder shouting my name as I disappear into the brush after a girl who should not be here—and maybe never should’ve been trusted at all.
She ducks between the trunks, weaving through the forest like she knows every inch of it, slipping in and outof the fog-draped shadows like a ghost.
My breath saws through my lungs as I push harder, faster, the trees whipping past as I close the distance between us.
And then she’s gone. Like she was never here at all.
My heart pounds as I spin, breath ragged, scanning the dense trees and shifting shadows.
Alder crashes through the underbrush and comes to a stop beside me, sharp-eyed and silent.
“Where did she—” I choke out, freezing when a branch to my left snaps.
A blur of movement explodes from the brush. Steel flashes, and I stumble back.
Alder is fast. His hand whips out, catching the attacker’s wrist mid-strike. The blade glints an inch from my throat before it’s wrenched away.
Sylvie struggles against his grip, twisting, kicking, wild-eyed, and feral, but he doesn’t let go. Her chest heaves. Her hair’s tangled, damp with sweat or mist or both. Her eyes dart between us, bright with panic and something sharper.
“I’ll let you go,” Alder says, voice even, “but I need to know you won’t come at us with that blade again.”
Her gaze flicks between us, calculating, cautious, weighing options we can’t see. Her fingers tighten around the hilt of her dagger. Then, slowly, she nods.
Alder releases her, but his posture stays rigid, his eyes never leaving her.
Sylvie jerks her arm back and rubs her wrist where he held her. Then her attention snaps to him.
“You,” she snarls, nostrils flaring, “blistering asshole!”
Alder’s brows shoot up. “Asshole? You came atGemma’s throat with a knife.” He gestures toward me, incredulous. “Forgive me if I thought that warranted a response.”
Sylvie’s jaw twitches. Her fingers squeeze around the dagger again, the leather-wrapped grip creaking under the force of her hold. Then, abruptly, she turns to me.
“What are you doing here?” she demands. “I thought the two of you had stolen away for a tryst. Yet here I find you, skulking about the woods on an island where you have no rightful business.”
“I could ask you the same thing.” I cross my arms and tilt my head. “You ran after I called your name. Twice.”
Her expression doesn’t soften. “And you chased me. Why?”
“Because I was worried. Because I thought—” With a shrug, I throw up my arms. “I don’t know, you were doing something nefarious.”
“Nefarious?Me?” Sylvie scoffs. “Hardly. More likely you feared I’d seen something you wished to keep hidden.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re the one sneaking around in the shadows.”
Alder lets out a breathy chuckle. “That’s rich coming from someone hiding in the forest with a dagger.”
Sylvie’s lips press into a thin line. “I came to find Clara.”
The wind rips through the trees, bending the branches and carrying the scent of the forest and the sea.
I swallow, but the words still taste like iron. “Sylvie…” My voice cracks. I try again, softer this time, like gentling my tone might lessen the blow. “Clara’s dead.”
“I know.”
Her words land like a stone. “You know?”
