The morning light cast long shadows as the birds tweet into the quiet dawn. Underneath the trees and mist, Uriel knelt by a stream, scrubbing the blood and ash from her trembling hands. The cold crept through her, slowly and steady. She didn't resist. It was better than numbness.

Lowell laid in silence behind her, sleeping a restless and fevered sleep in the abandoned cabin close to the northern border of Ember’s pack, his wounds showing little signs of healing. She could feel the stillness in the air. The clock was running down.

Uriel hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours and it was obvious in her eyes. Her body felt...