Grace
Branches tore at her sleeves as she ran. Every breath rasped like fire in her throat. The forest no longer felt like a place—it felt like a living thing trying to keep her.
She tripped over a root and went down hard, snow filling her mouth. For a heartbeat she stayed there, gasping, cheek pressed against the frozen ground. The night had gone death-quiet again. No wind. No footsteps. Only the pounding of her heart.
Did it stop?
Grace forced herself up, shaking. The trees looked wrong here—too close together, trunks slick with frost that reflected the moon like mirrors. Her reflection stared back at her a dozen times over, eyes wide, face streaked with dirt.
She took one step forward.
The ice-mirror bark rippled.
Something moved behind it.
Grace’s hand shot to the small knife
