Snowmelt hissed against the river's edges, turning the air sharp and wet. Ella crouched at the water's edge, scanning the treeline for the scout who'd promised to meet her. Instead, she found a strip of parchment wedged into a forked branch.
*Gilbert injured. Come alone.*
She read it twice, then tucked it into her sleeve. The words felt too neat, too convenient, but she still started toward the old ferry path.
---
The path narrowed between black pines. Her boots left crisp prints in the thin crust of ice. She kept her pace steady, hand brushing the hilt of the small blade strapped to her ankle.
The ferry shack appeared ahead, roof sagging under last week's snow.
“Gilbert?" she called.
A shape moved behind her—swift, silent. A cloth clamped over her nose, stinking of sharp chemicals.
