“No,” I said. “Thank you, but I need the quiet.”
Their eyes lingered on me, following me to the door.
I kept my head down as I navigated the familiar streets of the city, passing the imposing stone pillars of the Royal Archives and the Thrynn River.
I veered left, leaving the paved streets behind as the path dissolved into the dirt of the foothills.
The South Ridge rose in low, rocky hills that marked the gradual shift between the fertile valleys of Haelen and the harsher terrain that guarded Umbral’s domain.
It sat a mountain range higher than the Thrynn Peaks—steep, rocky, and entirely uninviting to a forager.
The climb demanded breath and balance in equal measure, but I welcomed the burn. It forced my thoughts into the rhythm of my boots and kept me focused on the incline rather than the ticking clock in my head.
The hill eventually flattened into a narrow plateau, and I stopped to catch my breath, my gaze drawn upward to the towering obsidian peaks of the Umbral. They loomed over the ridge, pointed and jagged against the sky.
This was the closest point to the border—a place where a single wrong step or a poorly placed foot could carry you into territory you could never leave.
I stepped over a fallen branch, picking my way toward a cluster of stacked rocks near the edge.
There, thriving in the cool dampness where the light struggled to reach, was the silver-green moss. It was dense and lush, a small miracle in such a harsh place.
Kneeling, I began to gather it, my fingers moving gently as to not separate the bunch.
It was worth more in larger masses.
The sun beat down on the back of my neck, yet it did little to stop the trail of goose flesh that rose in the wake of the wind.
Shaking out my numbing fingers, I transferred the moss into a clean dish and wiped my damp hands on my foraging rug. I had spotted a cluster of mushrooms further down, and I could not risk cross-contaminating the harvest.
As I began to stand, the sharp crack of a branch beneath a heavy foot froze the air in my lungs.
My eyes darted to the sun, my heart sinking as I noted the angle of the light. I was out later than I should have been.
This was the hour the Veythar patrolled the region.
I lifted my head slowly, catching sight of two figures stepping through the treeline.
Their cloaks were lighter and less ornate than Talon’s, their movements sharper—less contained. Where he felt like a controlled storm, they felt like fracture.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a fleeting second, a growl of frustration catching in my throat.
Why was I thinking of him?
The taller of the two guards inclined his head, his gaze sweeping over my foraging gear.
“An unbound,” he smirked. “And nearly at her limit, by the look of those trembling hands.”
The shorter one did not speak. He simply drew a curved blade from his belt. The weapon was a void in the sunlight, absorbing the afternoon glow rather than reflecting it.
My body reacted before reason could catch up.
I ran.
The incline stole my breath almost immediately, gravel skidding beneath my boots as I scrambled higher along the ridge. My lungs burned, a fierce clawing at my chest, but it was nothing compared to the sound of feet pounding behind me
They gained ground with terrifying ease, the gap between us closing with alarming speed.
A narrow stone crevice cut through the ridge ahead—a split in the rock barely wide enough for a single person. I lunged into it, my fingers scraping the stone as I pressed my back against the cold wall and forced myself to breathe.