“Move," Veronica told herself. “Left tree. Rock. Don't look back."
Snow came at a slant. The moon wore a veil. Three rogues fanned to block the ravine mouth, teeth white in the dark.
“Pretty house wolf," one taunted. “Lost?"
“Found," Veronica said, and stepped in first.
Steel rang once. Her blade kissed a wrist, then a throat. The second rogue lunged; she slid under, kicked his knee, turned, and shoved him into the third. They tangled. She took the moment, cut air in a bright arc, and ended it.
Silence dropped. Breath smoked.
A groan rose from the ravine floor. Not rogue.
Veronica peered down. A man lay half-hidden in shadow, shoulder gouged, thigh soaked black. He wore no house colors—just a hard-used coat and quiet authority that didn't need a crest.
She slid down the icy cut, bo
