The world beyond the fortress was a wasteland of white and ruin. Smoke still rose from the shattered walls behind her, carrying the scent of burnt oil and blood. Isla ran until her lungs felt like they were filled with glass. The cold tore through her cloak and bit into her skin, but she didn't stop. Every sound behind her felt like his voice, calling her name through the storm.
She stumbled once, falling to her knees in the snow. Her fingers sank into the frost as she struggled to catch her breath. The night pressed close, heavy with silence. Only the wind moved, whispering through the barren trees that bordered the valley.
Her hands trembled as she reached beneath her cloak, pressing her palm against her stomach. The faint movement there steadied her. "Just a little further," she murmured, voice hoarse. "We're almost free."
A distant shout echoed through the night. Her heart lurched. They had found her trail.
