The death signal reached the outpost through the storm.
Three low notes.
Then one final call.
Evelyn stood beside the shutter until the wind swallowed the echo.
A search party had found a body.
She had no way to know whose.
The mate bond remained stretched but intact. Albert was alive. Urgent. Moving.
The mountain gave her nothing else.
Marcus watched from the bench.
“What signal?”
“Greyhaven’s death call.”
Lucian stopped drawing his knife over the whetstone. He still wore the black shirt and red-trimmed coat from the trail, both stiff where melted snow had frozen again. Damp curls clung to his temples.
“The archer?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
Evelyn hated the answer. Guessing would not improve it.
Hayes remained unconscious but stable. They could not carry him into the storm. Leavi
