I freeze, the air caught in my lungs. My senses — dulled though they are — catch the change. The stench of sulfur slams into me. Freya lowers herself slowly, muscles coiled tight, ready to snap. Her orange eyes sweep the undergrowth.
The red dust swirls faintly around us, the forest holding its breath.
✧ “What is it?” I whisper, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure whatever it is can hear it.
My voice trembles in the stillness.
✧ “Hunters,” she spits the word like poison. “Hellhounds. They track fear… and new scents.” Her gaze flicks toward me for the briefest moment — and there’s no doubt who smells new here.
The implication hangs heavy between us.
✧ That’s when I hear it — a low rustle, like something wet dragging across stone. The sound is thick, sticky… followed by a dry crack. The
