Alana's POV
We walk in silence, the forest still carrying the scent of blood and smoke, a bitter perfume that clings to my skin. Twigs snap beneath our boots, the cold earth soft and damp from the earlier fight. The moon hangs high above us, casting silver light onto the leaves and setting Adrian's hair aglow like strands of molten starlight. He walks beside me, close enough to touch, but he doesn't. And I don't reach for him either.
My wrists still sting from the silver chains, the cuts raw and red, but the pain is distant now—muted by the steady thunder in my chest. Ahead of us, Eve limps slightly, and Amaya is whispering something to her, trying to distract her from the pain. Their silhouettes move through the trees like ghosts, but my attention drifts back to the man beside me.
I don't look at him. But I feel him.
