Ava’s POV
The morning came with a chill that seeped into my bones, and the forest was heavy with a silence that spoke of danger. I hadn’t slept. None of us had, really. Not after what had happened. Lucia was back at camp, her side bandaged, and the boy—a frail reminder of how close we’d come to losing everything—slept fitfully by the fire.
I stood at the edge of the clearing, my eyes scanning the trees for any sign of movement. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of a branch set my nerves on edge. We were being hunted. I could feel it, like a predator’s breath on the back of my neck.
Footsteps crunched behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know it was Ava. I’d grown attuned to her presence, the way she carried herself, the quiet strength she exuded. “You should rest,” she said, her voice
