Chapter Ninety-Two – Found in the Shadows
The forest was still bathed in shadows, the early light of dawn barely filtering through the dense canopy above. Every step forward was measured and silent, Rowan’s senses stretched taut with focus. Beside him, Giselle moved like a wraith, her presence sharp, her energy coiled tightly beneath her skin.
They were close.
The narrow trail curved abruptly, following the bend of a shallow creek. Mira’s hand lifted from the front of the group, motioning for them to halt. She pointed toward a small clearing up ahead, almost completely hidden by a wall of brush.
Rowan caught it then—the faint scent of ash and fire. A dying campfire.
He signaled to fan out. Vance moved right, Serin cut left. Rowan and Giselle advanced forward silently, parting the bramble with the barest whisper of noise.
That’s when he saw her.
Curled on the far side of the dying fire, her cloak thrown aside in her sleep, was Elia.
She looked thinner than he remembered. Her usually sleek blonde hair was tangled around her face, and her cheeks were hollowed with exhaustion. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, oblivious to the warriors slowly surrounding her.
Rowan didn’t wait.
He lunged forward, a snarl in his throat as he crossed the fire’s edge. Elia’s eyes snapped open just as his shadow fell over her. She rolled hard to the side, grabbing a blade from beneath her blanket, and swung at him.
The metal missed his throat by inches, slicing through the air with startling speed.
Giselle was already moving, circling behind her, her eyes glowing with power. Rowan blocked the next strike, grabbing Elia’s wrist and twisting hard until the blade clattered to the forest floor.
“Stop!” Giselle’s voice rang out across the clearing—sharp, commanding, laced with something that wasn’t just authority. It was instinct.
Power.
Elia froze.
Rowan felt it like a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Her limbs stopped mid-motion. Her breath caught in her throat. The girl stared at Giselle, wide-eyed and trembling, her confusion plain.
“H-How did you…” Elia whispered, her eyes darting between Rowan and Giselle.
Giselle stepped forward slowly, her gaze locked on Elia’s as if peering into her soul. “I won’t let you hurt anyone else. But I also won’t let them hurt you—unless you make me.”
Elia didn’t move. The blade lay at her feet, forgotten.
Rowan’s hand was still tight on her arm, but her body had gone slack. All the fight had drained from her at Giselle’s words. It was like some part of her had recognized Giselle—not just as Luna, but as something more. Something undeniable.
Elia turned her face toward Rowan. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then you’d better start explaining,” Rowan growled, voice low and dangerous, “before I stop caring.”
She looked at him, then back at Giselle. “Where’s Rhea?”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “You tell me.”
Elia’s lips trembled. “She said she just needed time to figure out what to do. I didn’t know she would…” Her gaze dropped to the forest floor. “I didn’t know she’d go that far.”
Giselle’s voice softened, but not by much. “Then you’re going to tell us everything you do know. Now.”
Elia looked torn, her mind racing behind those wary eyes. Rowan could see the guilt there, the conflict, and—somewhere deeper—the fear. Not of him. Not even of death. But of Rhea.
Rowan finally released her wrist but didn’t step away. “You’ve got one shot, Elia. Make it count.”
She nodded once, slow and deliberate.
“I’ll talk,” she whispered. “But not here.”
Rowan shared a glance with Giselle, her silent nod the only answer he needed.
He turned back to Elia, voice firm. “Then let’s move. You’re not running again.”
And this time, he wouldn’t let anyone slip through the cracks.
The journey back to pack territory was quiet, but the silence was anything but peaceful.
Elia walked between Rowan and Giselle, flanked tightly on either side by Serin and Vance. Mira took up the rear, eyes constantly scanning the thick tree line. Every step down the rocky ridge crunched beneath their boots, the sound swallowed quickly by the dense canopy above.
Rowan kept glancing at Elia, her shoulders hunched forward beneath her worn cloak, eyes trained on the ground as if trying to avoid the weight of his judgment. He didn’t trust her—not yet—but there was a desperation clinging to her that he couldn’t ignore. She was afraid. And that fear felt earned.
They moved at a steady pace, careful not to rush and draw unnecessary attention. The terrain was jagged and slick with morning dew, and every so often, a loose stone would send one of them sliding an inch or two down the path.
They were maybe a mile from the border when Rowan froze mid-step.
A distant, guttural howl cut through the morning air—low, mournful, and unmistakably rogue.
The group halted immediately.
Another howl joined it. Then a third. Closer this time.
“Shit,” Vance muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned in a slow circle.
“They’re fanning out,” Mira added grimly. “They know we’re here.”
Rowan’s gaze shifted to Elia, who had gone pale. “This is what you were running from, isn’t it?”
She gave a small nod, panic dancing behind her eyes. “She told them I knew too much… that I was a loose end.”
Giselle let out a low growl beside him. Rowan’s hand curled into a fist.
“They’re not going to reach you,” he said firmly, stepping in front of Elia as he turned to his warriors. “Pick up the pace. We don’t stop until we’re back inside the border.”
They moved again, this time faster, the trees whipping by as they half-jogged, half-sprinted down the slope. The howls grew louder behind them, shadowing their heels like wolves circling a kill.
Rowan didn’t look back.
He didn’t have to.
They were coming.
And this time, they wouldn’t just be fighting for survival.
They’d be fighting for answers.
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