But he couldn't. Not after what he witnessed in the Islands. Not after the fate that befell the Crimson Caravan and those packs that bought the stolen goods from them.
And Karl, for all his softness, for all his screaming panic, wanted to live.
His fingers dug into the snow again, this time with a different grip. Not to crawl away. But to push.
He rose, wobbling, breath heaving. His legs buckled… then locked.
He didn't say a word. Didn't meet their eyes. But he stood.
The sneers didn't vanish. But the silence that followed was heavier now. Heavier, and watching.
Five minutes left.
And the hunt had already begun.
A thunderous roar from the distance made Karl shrink with a whimper. He'd thought he was courageous just a breath ago, but this time, he didn't tremble on the snow or freeze. However, the drumming of his heart against his ear probably was too loud to make him freeze.
"They're coming," someone said.
"They're calling on others. They're grouping up."
