They waited until the forest changed its rhythm.

  Not until it grew silent. Silence never came. The woods only shifted, attention sliding elsewhere like a predator distracted by a different scent. The distant sounds of Hollows moving through undergrowth softened, became irregular, less coordinated. It was not safety. It was opportunity.

  Gemma opened her eyes.

  Her palm rested flat against the damp earth, fingers spread, feeling the faint vibrations that traveled through root and soil. She had learned, recently, that listening did not always require ears.

  “Now,” she whispered.

  Candriela was already moving. She rose without sound, blade in hand, posture low and economical. Whatever hesitation she carried lived somewhere deeper than muscle. Gemma followed, limbs stiff, joints protesting. The Light beneath her skin lay quiet but alert, like an animal pretending to sleep.

  They circled back toward the place where the group had shattered.

  The forest bore scars.

  Broken branches hung at unnatural angles. Leaves were crushed into the mud, stained dark where blood had soaked and dried unevenly. A torn strip of cloth clung to a thorn bush, fluttering faintly when the wind shifted. Every few steps, the ground told a different fragment of the same story: flight, struggle, separation.

  Gemma’s chest tightened.

  “They shouldn’t be this quiet,” she murmured.

  Candriela nodded without looking at her. “Quiet means hiding. Or taken.”

  Taken.

  The word pressed down on Gemma’s ribs. She had seen enough cages recently to know how easily people disappeared into them.

  They moved carefully, doubling back, calling names only in short, broken whispers. Seren. Digiera. Aros. Broko. Each name felt heavier than the last, as if saying it aloud risked erasing it completely.

  A sound snapped through the brush.

  Candriela pivoted instantly.

  A Hollow burst from behind a fallen trunk, its limbs bent at wrong angles, mouth open in a soundless scream. Candriela stepped between it and Gemma without hesitation, blade flashing once. The creature collapsed in two uneven halves, momentum carrying it forward even after death.

  Gemma barely had time to breathe.

  Another Hollow lunged from the side. Then another.

  They came in a cluster this time, drawn by motion, by breath, by the stubborn refusal of life to vanish quietly. Gemma raised her hand, instinctively shaping a barrier—

  “Too many,” Candriela said sharply. “Move!”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  They ran.

  Not blindly. Not chaotically. Candriela led, cutting sharp angles through the trees, forcing the pursuit to fracture. Gemma followed, heart pounding, cloak snagging on branches. The Hollows followed with relentless persistence, bodies smashing through brush without regard for injury or pain.

  One leapt.

  Candriela turned and caught it mid-air, blade driving up beneath its jaw. Bone cracked. The body went limp. She shoved it aside—

  —and two more slammed into her from the flank.

  The impact drove her to one knee.

  “Candriela!” Gemma shouted, panic tearing through her composure.

  The Light surged reflexively, slamming one Hollow into a tree hard enough to split bark. The second staggered, shrieking, but did not fall.

  Candriela did not retreat.

  She planted her feet and fought.

  Her movements were tight, brutal, stripped of flourish. A knife to the throat. A kick to the knee. She took a claw across the shoulder and didn’t flinch. A second raked her thigh, tearing fabric and flesh. Blood spilled immediately, dark and heavy.

  She responded by driving her blade up beneath a jaw, twisting until bone gave way.

  Gemma watched in horror and awe as Candriela held the line alone.

  Another Hollow lunged, catching Candriela across the ribs with a heavy blow. The sound of impact was dull, wrong. Candriela staggered, breath tearing from her lungs, but she stayed upright long enough to kill it too.

  The last Hollow hesitated.

  Then fled.

  Candriela swayed.

  For a heartbeat, Gemma thought she might remain standing through sheer will.

  Then Candriela collapsed.

  Gemma was beside her instantly.

  “Candriela!” Her hands shook as she assessed the damage. Blood soaked through torn clothing. The wound at her ribs was ugly, already swelling. Her breathing was shallow, uneven, each breath an effort.

  “I’m… fine,” Candriela said, teeth clenched.

  “You’re not,” Gemma replied sharply. “You can’t walk.”

  Candriela tried anyway. Failed. Her body betrayed her completely.

  Gemma swallowed hard.

  She closed her eyes.

  The Light responded reluctantly, like a muscle stretched past exhaustion. It did not explode outward. It gathered inward, forming a subtle field around Candriela’s body, lifting, redistributing weight in a way that made Gemma’s bones ache in sympathy.

  She lifted her.

  Not easily. Not gracefully. But steadily.

  Candriela groaned as Gemma adjusted her grip, arms slung over her shoulders, Candriela’s blood warm against her neck.

  “I told you to run,” Candriela muttered weakly.

  “And leave you?” Gemma said, breath shaking. “No.”

  They moved slowly now. Painfully. Every step was an act of stubborn refusal. Gemma’s vision blurred at the edges, but she focused on one thing only: forward.

  A shout cut through the trees.

  “GEMMA!”

  Broko’s voice.

  Gemma turned instantly, relief and fear colliding so hard it nearly knocked her off balance. She changed direction without thinking, pushing harder, ignoring the tremor spreading through her arms and spine.

  They broke into a small clearing.

  The sight stopped her cold.

  The group was there.

  All of them.

  On their knees.

  Hands bound behind their backs with rough rope. Faces bruised. Seren Dal’s jaw split and swollen. Digiera glaring openly at their captors, defiance burning despite exhaustion. Legs pale, eyes darting wildly.

  Broko knelt at the center, bloodied but alive.

  “Gemma!” he shouted again.

  Before she could speak, before she could move—

  The forest shifted.

  Men stepped out from the trees.

  Not Hollows.

  Soldiers.

  They emerged calmly, deliberately, forming a loose half-circle around the clearing. Bows were already drawn. Arrows nocked and aimed with professional ease. Hunters, not monsters.

  “Careful,” one of them said evenly. “Set her down.”

  Gemma froze.

  The Light flickered, unstable.

  Candriela sagged against her, barely conscious, blood dripping steadily onto the forest floor.

  “You’re going to follow us,” the man continued. “Slowly. No more surprises.”

  Gemma’s eyes flicked across the circle, counting arrows, counting distance. There were too many. And Candriela could not move.

  “And if we don’t?” Gemma asked quietly.

  The archer did not smile. “Then we stop asking.”

  Gemma tightened her grip on Candriela.

  She looked at Broko. At Digiera. At the others.

  She took a breath.

  And stepped forward.

  The forest closed in behind them, swallowing the echoes of the fight, as if none of it had ever happened.