Natalie POV
The iron drainage gates of the third ridge were covered in a thick, slimy coat of green moss and frozen mountain moisture, their heavy bars warped by decades of systematic neglect. The air inside the entrance tunnel was ice-cold, smelling of stagnant water, copper ore, and the suffocating, sour scent of hundreds of terrified wolves packed into a tight, unventilated space. It was an environment built for hiding, a subterranean refuge that had served the lower valley for generations whenever the northern armies marched too close to the perimeter borders.
I walked slowly down the narrow, dripping stone corridor, the heels of my riding boots clicking softly against the wet slate. I kept my pace deliberate, intentional, and entirely clear of any aggressive acceleration that might
