The forest at night was loud.
Crickets sang. Leaves rustled. Some distant beast screamed dramatically, probably complaining about life. And Isabella wanted to scream too. But she kept walking.
Valen walked ahead, sniffing the air occasionally with a serious, hunter-like expression. His ears twitched every time he caught Cyrus' scent.
Ophelia followed behind Isabella. Meanwhile, Zyran and Kian stalked them from behind like two oversized, sulking shadows.
Honestly, anyone watching this group would assume Isabella had a personal army.
She did not.
She had personal headaches.
They walked for hours. Hours of false hope. Hours of Valen suddenly saying, "I smell him," only to pause again and mutter, "Never mind, that was a tree."
Ophelia almost cried the fourth time he said it.
Zyran almost threw a tree.
Kian stayed silent, proving he truly was the king of brooding.
Isabella?
She was losing her mind.
At one point she stopped walking entirely and grabbed Ophelia's shoulders.
