Eli
The wind cuts through the trees, sharp as broken glass.
I pull the jacket tighter around me, wishing the cold would numb more than my fingers. Nothing seems capable of quenching the fire that burns under my skin all the time now.
Jace walks ahead, steady and silent, his boots leaving heavy prints in the crusted snow.
I follow, trying to match his pace, but my stride is nowhere near as wide as his.
The path curves along the eastern border, where wooden posts jut from the snow. Each carved with sigils burned deep into the wood.
Some posts are decorated with bones. Real ones. They rattle when the wind rushes through.
I force my hands into my pockets and keep walking.
“Quiet,” Jace says without looking back.
I don’t argue. There’s nothing to say. I haven’t said a word since we
