Lucia
The hour was still deep in the pre-dawn hush, the kind of cold that bit at exposed skin and made breath plume in frosty clouds.
Winter was well on its way.
Lucia stood by Shrapnel’s massive flank, the horse’s warm hide a comfort against the chill, the scent of damp earth and horses a familiar balm. Around her, the Blackwood scouts moved with the quiet efficiency of wolves preparing for a hunt—not a violent one, but a necessary one. The clink of metal against leather, the soft snorts of horses, the hushed commands of Miren, the scout leader, all blended into a symphony of departure.
Lucia felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, a mix of apprehension and fierce determination. The silver locket, cool against her throat, felt heavier than usual, a constant reminder of the secrets she
