The first sound that broke the quiet was a horse's cry, sharp and distant through the trees. Jonas was the first to move. His hand went to his knife, and his eyes flashed toward the cave entrance where the fog pressed thick and pale. The fire they had lit the night before had burned to embers. Only a faint orange glow remained, pulsing like a dying heartbeat.
"Pack your things," he said quickly.
Isla blinked, still half-dreaming, her head resting against the cold wall. "What is it?"
"They've found us."
The words cut through her drowsiness like a blade. She pushed herself up, clutching her coat around her belly. "How far?"
"Close enough that the horses are echoing off the ridge," Jonas replied. He kicked dirt over the fire and started gathering their few supplies—a flask of water, a blanket, and a folded piece of the map. "We move now."
