The wind tugged at the corners of the tattered curtain in Sasha’s cabin, letting in cold slivers of night air and curling mist. It smelled of moss, rot, and rain—like the edge of something old waking up. Her single lantern flickered as if it, too, was wary of the fog.
She sat curled on a threadbare couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring into the dying embers in the hearth. Her once-golden hair hung in tangled waves down her back, dulled by months of neglect. Shadows clung to her features, deepening the hollows under her eyes.
No one had come to see her after the attack on the grove. She had felt it from afar—the pulse of River’s magic, raw and blinding, cutting through the dark like a blade. Even through the wards on her small cabin, the force had shaken the walls.
The c
