ATLAS
I arrived at Gray Pines in ten minutes flat. It should've taken fifteen, but the adrenaline coursing through me and the thought of Aria in danger had me moving faster than I thought possible.
Still, I saw nothing out of place. No movement. No blood. No sign of Igor's army.
I lifted my head and sniffed the air. A deep, focused breath, searching for anything. Scorched pine. Steel. Blood. Fear. But all I got was damp earth and melting snow. The terrain was wet, soft, and perfect for tracking if someone had come through here.
Yet the ground was undisturbed. No footprints. No drag marks. Nothing.
"Perhaps you were tricked," Fenrik growled in my head, low and seething.
Tricked? No. Imogen wouldn't. She was hurt. I saw the blood, watched her collapse. She wasn't that good an actress. Not even close.
If it were Sophia? Then yeah, maybe. But Imogen? No.
"Then how do you explain this?" he snapped. "I can't even catch Aria's scent!"
