The night swallowed us the moment we left the palace grounds.
The moon was thin, barely more than a silver scratch in the sky, but the forest didn't need light to close around us. Its branches curled like fingers, trapping the wind, trapping sound, trapping breath.
"Elian, keep your head down," I whispered.
He nodded against my shoulder, his little hands fisting the fabric of my cloak. I could feel his heartbeat—fast, frightened, but trusting.
The moment I crossed the border of the palace barrier, something changed.
The air thickened.
The forest exhaled.
As if it recognized me.
You died here once.
The whisper wasn't mine.
It wasn't Belleah's.
It wasn't the vision's voice.
It was something older—something that clung to the bones of this land.
I shook my head violently. "Not now… please, not now."
But memories pressed against my skull anyway, like hands shoving me into water.
A noose tightening.
Blood in my throat.
Cold mud under my back.
