Leila POV
The night is no different from the restless ones that have plagued me since the rogue attack – sleep fractured, my mind a battlefield of shadows and half-remembered ghosts. The packhouse creaks around me like an old guardian, its ancient timbers whispering secrets in the wind that rattles the windows. Exhaustion finally drags me under, and the dream returns, sharper and more merciless than ever.
I’m running again through misty woods cloaked in silver fog, moonlight slicing through the canopy in pale blades. Cool moss cushions my bare feet, but every step jars my racing heart. Branches whip at my arms, drawing thin lines of blood that smell coppery in the cold air. Behind me, shouts echo – harsh voices, the crunch of boots, the baying of wolves on a hunt. “Find her! Don’t let he
