James burst into the house, his legs aching, chest heaving. His pulse pounded in his ears, his hands shaking as he reached for anything they might need. He had no idea what they would need. His fingers hovered uselessly over a pack, frustration tightening his throat.

  Miss Silvia stood in the doorway to her room, worry carved into the lines of her face. Absentmindedly, she twisted a lock of hair, braiding and unbraiding it with restless fingers.

  "It is time, then." Her voice was quiet and distant, her eyes locked on the faded portrait near the hearth. The four of them stood frozen in paint, captured before Max had been stolen, before everything had shifted beneath their feet. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  James grimaced. Looking over the portrait, they were all so happy there, nearly two years ago now. Miss Silvia insisted on getting it painted. The painter took nearly a whole day to do the outline. Max Kept moving or poking James, sending them into fits of laughter, and the process would need to be restarted.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" He forced a grin, though it felt thin, brittle. "You're acting like I'll never see you again."

  "None of that." She exhaled, a weary smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Slowly, she lowered her hands from where they had been worrying at her braid, stretching them out toward him. "Come here, kiddo."

  James hesitated boy his age weren't supposed to need hugs. But right now he knew he did. He stiffened awkwardly before stepping into her embrace.

  The warmth of her, the steady rise and fall of her breath, the scent of dried herbs clinging to her clothes. She grounded him. Her arms wrapped around him tight, pulling him in as though she could shield him from the storm that lay ahead. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, the touch soft, lingering.

  James closed his eyes, knowing he should step away. But something in him broke.

  "We're gonna bring him back." His voice was firm but quiet, spoken into the fabric of her shoulder. "We're gonna be a family again. They gave up on him. On the others, but I won't. I won't give up on family."

  Miss Silvia didn't answer right away. She only held him tighter, her hand smoothing over the back of his head.

  And for a moment, just a moment, James let himself feel like a boy again—safe in her arms, in their home, before the weight of the road ahead could press down on him.

  Ser Edwin burst into the house, mirroring James from moments earlier—his broad frame filling the doorway, rain dripping from his coat, his chest rising and falling with urgency. His eyes, sharp with purpose, softened the moment they landed on them—Miss Silvia and James, still wrapped in each other's arms, standing in the doorway of the room he had built for her.

  She didn't hesitate. She stretched out an arm, wordless, an invitation.

  Edwin crossed the space in two strides, sinking into her touch and pulling them close. His arms wrapped around them, strong and steady, warm despite the wet that clung to his clothes.

  They stood there for a long moment, saying nothing. The only sound the steady tap tap tap of rain against the roof.

  James wanted to stay like that forever. Wanted to pretend that nothing outside these walls existed. That they were just a family, whole, unshaken. But his family wasn't whole. Max was out there, and they needed to go get him.

  "Get the large packs from my room," Ser Edwin finally murmured, his voice rough, quiet. "The ones sealed against the rain. Grab the tent and bedrolls, too."

  It was an order, but something was beneath it. Something James couldn't quite place. A quiet demand for privacy.

  Still, James obeyed. He forced himself to step back, slipping free from their hold. Lingering momentarily, just past the doorway, pressing his back against the wall. Just a moment. Just long enough to listen.

  He had done this so many nights over the years. Sneaking from his bed to lingering just out of sight, eavesdropping on their quiet conversations over tea. It had always been a comfort, hearing them speak in hushed voices, knowing they would always be there. That he had a family again.

  If nothing else, it would calm his nerves. He closed his eyes, letting the moment sink into him.

  "We have to go," Edwin said softly.

  "I know." Miss Silvia's voice was steady.

  James risked a glance peaking around the corner.

  Miss Silvia's hand lingered on Ser Edwin's face, fingers brushing along the roughness of his beard, memorizing the feel of him. There were unshed tears in her eyes. A tight smile on her lips.

  "He's ready," Edwin murmured, his head lowering, nearly touching hers. He closed his eyes, seeming to sink into her touch.

  "I know." Her voice was so quiet that James barely heard it over the rain. "I told you this day would come."

  "I know you did." Edwin exhaled, long and slow. He pulled her against his chest, holding her like he would never get the chance again. She leaned into the embrace, resting her head against him. "Doesn't make it any easier."

  "It was never going to be easy," she whispered. "Not since the orchard. But he's a good kid."

  "I thought we had more time." Ser Edwin let out something like a breathless laugh, though there was no humor in it. His voice cracked at the edges, and James swallowed hard. Holding back tears of his own. "There are so many things I meant to do."

  "I know." Miss Silvia pulled away just enough to look up into Ser Edwin's gaze, her hands cupping his face.

  Edwin's fingers tightened around her waist, gripping her like a man holding on to sand as it spilled between his fingers. He opened his mouth and inhaled sharply.

  "I lo—"

  Miss Silvia pressed a finger to his lips. She was smiling softly, tears flowing from her green eyes now.

  "None of that now." She kissed him.

  It was the first time James had ever seen it. The two people he loved most were locked in a desperate, quiet moment. There was no urgency, no frenzy, only the ache of something long understood but never given into.

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  When they pulled apart, she gave him a tired, knowing smile. Ser Edwin just placed his forehead against hers. Breathing in deep, her scent one more time.

  "Go," she whispered. "There isn't much time."

  James felt like he had seen something he shouldn’t, a private moment not meant for him and moved down the hall, hurried with the chaos of trying to give them space. A flush building in his cheeks. But before he could breathe, Ser Edwin had them out the door, packs laden with all they would need. With cloaks and coats wrapped tight against the storm, James looked back for just for a moment.

  I'm ready. They think I'm ready to do this, and I can do it.

  Then he ran back to Miss Silvia, pulling her tight, something in him screaming to run and hide, to stay here. But knowing in his bones, he couldn't.

  "Go, dearie. Save Max, bring him home." She hugged him tight and then pushed him out the door. Tears glistening at the edges of her eyes.

  Ser Edwin began trudging down the road, and James had to hustle to catch up, boots sinking into the mud. Though he couldn't see it, Miss Silvia waved one final and closed the door against the storm.

  The storm swallowed them whole.

  James adjusted his pack, its weight pressing between his shoulders, unfamiliar but solid. Rain lashed at his face, cold and relentless, the wind pulling at his cloak like unseen hands trying to drag him back.

  They walked silently, boots sinking into the thickening mud, the road barely more than a flooded path winding away from Oakwood. James couldn't tell if it was the rain or tears running down his face, and he didn't know if he cared. He risked a glance back. The forge was already lost behind the veil of rain, the warm glow of its windows barely more than a distant blur. Miss Silvia was there, waiting, hoping, and praying for them. James sent up his own desperate prayer to any gods that would listen.

  "I will do what I can, little-seed." The voice answered back.

  A lump rose in his throat, forcing him to turn forward. Each step taking him farther from home but closer to Max.

  They had a long way to go.

  Ser Edwin moved with steady determination, his broad frame cutting through the storm like a ship through waves. Nothing seemed to slow his march, not the cold, the wind, or the weight of his pack.

  The rain did not let up. Hours passed. Maybe more. The world was reduced to shades of gray, the road stretching endlessly beneath their feet. Water dripped from James' hood, coat, and gloves soaked through until cold settled deep in his bones. He absent-mindedly checked the compass, its needle seemingly stuck pointing towards the forge, except sometimes it would briefly point towards Ser Edwin or off into the west, then snap back the way they had come.

  His fingers curled tight around the compass, flexing to keep the blood flowing. He could do this. He had to do this. The needle flicked north towards Max as thunder rumbled, low and deep.

  Ser Edwin slowed, tilting his head as if listening to something beyond the storm. James followed his gaze, though he thought there was nothing to see. Just trees, bent swaying in the wind, their dark silhouettes stark against the storm's fury.

  "Need to find shelter," Edwin grunted. Shielding his eyes against the rain. "Get a little warmth into our bones."

  James grunted, unsure if Ser Edwin could hear him. His legs burned from the exhaustion creeping in with each step. But still, they walked. Searching the road and trees for anything that might provide a reprieve against the storm.

  James couldn't tell if it was day or night, just the rolling black clouds, an endless churn above, dumping an endless fury upon them. The sucking of the mud at his boots, the biting of the wind against his cloak, the unrelenting beat of rain against his skin. It was as if the world had turned against him, clawing at him, daring him to stop.

  But still, the compass pointed north.

  North. To Max.

  A constant tug deep inside his chest, his heart aching to move his feet forward, each step a victory against the storm trying to hold him back.

  Are you there?

  "I am, little-seed." The voice curled around the edges of his thoughts. Parting his thoughts like the sun burned away clouds.

  We need shelter. Somewhere to sleep.

  "It has been a thousand years since I walked your land," the voice mused, quieting for a time. "My servant says there is a hunter's hut just off the road ahead. Old, but sound."

  Can I trust you?

  The presence retreated, fading into the power in his chest, just out of reach. James let out a slow breath, feeling that strange pressure press against his soaked clothes, easing the cold from his bones just a little. Making the rain bothered him a little less.

  "I think I see something," James called over the wind. "A hut, just up the road."

  "You sure?" Edwin shouted back, shielding his eyes against the downpour. "Can't see a damn thing in this blasted rain."

  James grabbed Ser Edwin's shoulder, pointing ahead, and after a moment, Edwin grunted and stomped off the path. Sure enough, tucked against an old boulder overgrown with moss and ivy was an old hunting shack half-hidden in the storm's wrath.

  Forgotten, it leaned to one side, the weight of years pressing heavily on its sagging beams. Rain had worn grooves into the wood, and ivy clung desperately to its rotting edges. But it was standing. James watched as a small white fox ran out from the hut, its silver eyes meeting James and nodding slowly before disappearing into the forest's dark shadows.

  "Blessed Mother," Ser Edwin called. "it was dry."

  James dropped his pack, rolling his shoulders, his eyes sweeping the small space. Three walls, a sagging roof, and barely enough room to stretch out, but it would do. The air was thick with damp wood, oak, and vaguely animal-smelling.

  Ser Edwin crouched, already pulling flint and steel. He worked in steady, patient movements, striking over and over, coaxing tiny sparks into the dryest bits of kindling he could find. James watched as Edwin shielded the flickering embers, whispering soft encouragement as if speaking to a skittish colt. Occasionally cussing in words, James couldn't understand as the flame would go out at the slightest gust of wind. The older man smiled the whole time as if he had done this before.

  Slowly, the flame caught again. This time, James saw as it took root in the driest of tender. It grew hungry, embers licking at the sticks, building until a warm, steady glow filled the small space.

  "There we go." Edwin sat back, wiping his hands on his coat, a wide grin splitting his face. James inched closer to the flames, feeling the heat soak into his bones, chasing away the worst of the storm's chill.

  Something heavy hit him in the chest. He blinked, catching it before it hit the ground. It was a thick, well-worn blanket, patched more than whole.

  "Wrap up," Edwin muttered, already rummaging through his pack. "We need to get moving in a few hours."

  James pulled it tight around his shoulders, letting its weight settle over him. Already, his eyes were drooping; never had he walked so far at a time. Every inch of him was tired. He tried to wiggle his toes in his boots to ensure they were there, but the effort alone made him want to curl up and sleep.

  Ser Edwin stretched out his bedroll, grunting as he leaned against the uneven ground. Then he hummed, low and steady. A familiar tune.

  James froze.

  Miss Silvia's song. A soft lullaby that had always scared off the nightmares and brought a deep calm over James when he first came to live with Ser Edwin.

  His chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. He closed his eyes, his body sinking deeper into the warmth of the fire, the cocoon of his blanket. Tonight, at least, the nightmares would be kept at bay.

  "Good night, Ser."

  Edwin just kept humming.

  James smiled just a little bit more and, finally, sleep pulled him under into the deep black of dreamless sleep.

  A sharp thud jolted James awake.

  The fire had burned low, the embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat. The wind howled through the trees, rattling the half-rotted walls of the hut, but something else had woken him.

  James' breath hitched. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, still belted at his side. Then, the smell hit him. Wet fur. Copper. Slowly, he sat up. A small, limp shape lay just inside the doorway, fur matted and stained, water and blood pooling beneath it.

  A fox.

  White as fresh snow, its lifeless silver eyes staring up at James. Panic rose in him as his pulse pounded in his ears.

  Then, he heard the creak of something shifting beyond the doorway, just outside the reach of the dying firelight. A shadow stretched against the storm, hunched, unnatural.

  A wolf, but not of flesh and fur. Its body was woven from dry vines and jagged branches, twisted into something almost alive. The brambles cracked as it moved, shifting like they were breathing. Like the dead vegetation itself had risen up and decided to hunt.

  James' breath came sharp and fast, heartbeat hammering in his chest. As a voice, like a nail scraping across slate, forced itself into his mind.

  "Miss me, little seed."

  The breath in James' lungs turned to ice.

  Scar had returned, and he wasn't alone.