His heart felt heavy, yet hollow, each step away from the mansion dragging him deeper into a familiar emptiness. He didn't know where he would go. Rogues weren't welcome anywhere. But at least, this time, no one was forcing him to kneel.
As the forest swallowed him, the faint scent of Ravenmoon's magic wards faded. The early morning light filtered weakly through the trees, silver and pale. Devon's breath came in soft clouds as he whispered to himself, "I'll be fine… I've survived worse."
But his wolf stirred uneasily beneath his skin. The forest felt wrong, too quiet, the air too thick.
Then, the sound.
A twig snapping.
Soft.
Deliberate.
Close.
Devon froze.
He turned, scanning the shadows between the trees.
Nothing.
But his instincts screamed danger. He took a cautious step backward. An arrow whistled past his face, grazing his cheek before embedding itself in a tree behind him.
Devon's heart stopped.
Then came the scent, faint but unmistakable.
Blood.
Iron.
