The scent of pine and damp soil mixed with the faint musk of wolves somewhere in the distance.
Kia leaned against the trunk of an old oak, his arms folded across his chest, his back to the bark. He looked as though he belonged there—dark, quiet, and calculating, with that familiar smug grin curling the corner of his mouth. The forest was his chessboard tonight, every shadow a potential piece to move.
A figure in a hooded cloak stood before him, the cloak dark enough to melt into the forest itself. Only strands of hair—a deep brown with hints of gold—peeked out from beneath the hood when the breeze shifted. She kept her hands clasped in front of her, poised and still, though the slight tilt of her head betrayed attention.
“You know what you have to do,” Kia said, his voice low but clear.
