The footprint had been made before the ridge collapsed.
Wind feathered loose crystals across its edges, but the narrow heel remained clear.
Evelyn crouched over it while snow gathered along her glove.
Too narrow for a military boot.
Noble leather. Reinforced heel. A decorative seam along the outer edge.
Whoever fired at Lucian had dressed for a court hunt.
“He knew this road existed,” Marcus said behind her.
Evelyn followed the tracks with her eyes.
They crossed the buried service road and climbed toward a shelf of stone hidden behind fir branches.
“He knew more than that.”
She pointed to the older snow beneath the print.
“He crossed before the avalanche.”
Lucian moved past Marcus. “Then he broke the barrier and waited for it to kill me.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“The first a
