Rowan
The attack pattern bothered me long before the symptoms started. Rogues didn’t move like that. They didn’t coordinate diversions. They didn’t retreat in formation. And they certainly didn’t carve territorial markings into trees before vanishing into the forest like ghosts.
Someone had trained them. Or led them. And whoever it was … They had planned this carefully. Marybeth walked several feet ahead of me along the snow-covered trail, her shoulders rigid with anger and exhaustion.
“You should slow down,” I said.
“I’m fine.” She was lying. Blood still stained the sleeve of her jacket from the fight earlier. Not enough to kill her. Enough to weaken her. Enough to make me restless every time I looked at it. The sun had almost disappeared behind the trees now, the forest dimming into
