Their group moved before the sun rose.

Selene, Caius, Alaric, Bren, and Orla.

They traveled fast, staying off the paths. Orla tracked the scent of blood and disturbed dirt with precision. Every broken twig, every shift in the wind, she read it like a map.

They moved through the trees for hours.

Then they found something.

A small clearing, scorched black in the center. Bones. Burnt leaves. A large stone slab cracked down the middle.

“What is this place?” Bren asked.

Alaric stepped forward. “Witch ground.”

Selene’s stomach turned. “They brought her here?”

Orla bent down, her fingers grazing the ashes. “No. She fought here. Look broken chains. Blood trail....