I turn and push through a dense thicket. As I emerge on the other side, I spot something on the ground. My chest clenchesas I kneel to examine the woven basket, tipped over, with a few scattered mushrooms nearby.
I stand and scan the area with renewed intensity. There are no signs of a struggle, no blood, no torn clothing. But something’s not right. They wouldn’t have left the basket behind.
“Everly!” I shout, louder than before. “Finn!”
My mind races with possibilities, each one worse than the last. Were they attacked by bandits? Taken by rebels? Or did something else, something darker, find them in these woods?
I force myself to focus, to think like a warrior. I circle the area, looking for tracks, broken twigs—anything that might indicate which direction they went.
There—a bent sapling. It’s not much, but it’s a start.
I follow the trail, my senses on high alert. The forest seems to close in around me, shadows deepening as the sun sinks lower.
A flash of movement catches my eye. I freeze, straining to see through the thick foliage and barely make out familiar brown curls.
I round a massive tree and finally see her clearly. Everly stumbles forward, her petite frame bent with effort as she drags something behind her—a crude litter fashioned from branches and vines. My breath freezes in my lungs as I realize what—who—lies on it.
Finn.
He lies motionless, limbs hanging limp over the edges of the makeshift carrier. Even from this distance, I see the unnatural pallor of his skin.
“Everly,” I call out, my voice hoarse.
She doesn’t seem to hear me as she keeps her eyes fixed on the ground.
I rush forward, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. “Everly,” I say again, softer this time.
She stares, her eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, she appears to not recognize me. Then, she blinks, and awareness floods her face.
“Cenric,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
I reach for her, but she flinches away. My hand falls uselessly to my side as I take her in. Mud and blood stain her surcoat. Her hands are raw and bleeding from dragging the litter.
And Finn...
I kneel beside his body, my fingers searching for a pulse I already know I won’t find. Finn’s skin is cold to the touch. His eyes stare sightlessly.
Twigs snap beneath my boots as I straighten and look at Everly as she sways on her feet. Yet she still grips the vines connecting to the litter.
“Everly,” I say gently, “let go. I’ve got him now.”
Tears spill down her cheeks as she shakes her head at me. “I can’t,” she chokes out. “I…I…promised I’d bring him back.”
The raw anguish in her voice crushes me as I move to her side. Carefully, I place my hands over hers. “You did bring him back. You kept your promise. Now, let me help you.”
As I pull the litter,Everly walks next to me, her steps unsteady. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look up.
The forest is eerily quiet as we make our way back. There’s no birdsong, no rustling leaves, just the sound of our footsteps and the scraping of the litter against the forest floor.
Every few steps, I glance at Everly. She stumbles occasionally, catching herself each time but never lifting her eyes.
My lungs squeeze with each passing moment. I want to reach out to her, to offer some comfort, but I don’t know how. What could I possibly say to ease her pain?
We reach a steep incline, and I focus on maneuvering the litter over exposed roots and rocks. Everly’s chest heaves, her breaths coming in short, stuttered gasps, yet she presses on.
As we crest the hill, she trips over a protruding root. I react instinctively, reaching out to steady her. My hand closes around her upper arm, and for the first time since we began our journey, she looks at me.
The pain in her eyes sends a jolt through me. Tears well up, threatening to spill over, but she blinks them back. Her lips part as if to speak, but no words come out. After a while, she glances away again and withdraws her arm from my grip.
