The forest swallowed us whole.

Branches scraped against my arms as I ran, the fog curling around our legs like a living thing. Every breath burned in my throat, and still Dante didn’t slow. He moved with the fluid precision of someone born to survive—silent, alert, always scanning.

Behind us, the low growl of engines reverberated through the hills. They were following the river, trying to cut us off before the border. The thought made my chest tighten, but there was no room left for fear—only motion.

“Keep close,” Dante hissed.

I stumbled over a root and nearly fell. His hand caught my arm, steady and strong, then released me...