The forest stretched for miles behind her, a blur of wet leaves and fading sunlight. Isla did not look back again. Every step she took along the uneven road felt heavier than the last, yet the simple rhythm of walking gave her purpose. One step forward. Then another. Then another.
By the time night fell, her legs trembled with exhaustion. The faint moonlight glowed through the fog, silvering the dirt path ahead. The wind was cold, cutting through the thin fabric of her cloak, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. If she slept here, she might not wake again.
A distant howl rose through the dark, echoing from somewhere deep in the valley. Her body stiffened instinctively. Wolves, maybe. Or worse—Dante's scouts, still following faint tracks. Her heart skipped.
But the sound faded, replaced by the whisper of wind through the trees. Isla exhaled shakily and pressed on.
