By the time the stars spilled across the sky like scattered glass, Isla's legs were trembling with every step. The chill of night bit through her cloak, and the last hints of warmth from their earlier adrenaline had long faded. Caius didn't say a word as they slowed their pace, but she could tell—he was just as tired.
"Here," she said softly, pointing to a grove where the trees grew close and thick. "We can stop here for the night."
Caius glanced around, nodding once. "Off the road. Hidden. Fine."
They sat in silence for a while as the world darkened further. Isla leaned against the base of a tree, drawing her knees to her chest, her breath misting in the air. The grass beneath her was damp, and she could still hear the whispers of the wind echoing from the village they'd fled the night before.
"I keep thinking about the Hallwells," she murmured, watching the sky.
Caius looked over, one brow raised. "Guilt creeping in?"
She shrugged. "No… maybe. They were the closest thing I had to a family after my mother vanished. And now I've just walked away."
Caius poked the small fire he'd managed to build. "You didn't walk away. You ran toward something. Toward truth."
A long pause.
Isla smiled faintly. "That was... surprisingly optimistic."
He rolled his eyes. "Don't get used to it."
They slept in shifts, with Caius taking the first watch. Isla drifted in and out of uneasy dreams—shadows that whispered, her mother's face flickering behind a veil of smoke, and always, the echo of midnight bells.
By dawn, the fire was cold, and the forest felt heavier somehow.
They resumed their journey, walking in silence. The woods began to thin around noon, and ahead, the sky lightened. As they crossed a ridge, they both stopped.
Below, where a village once stood, lay a field of ash.
Roofs were collapsed, houses burned to husks. The wells had been filled with rubble. Trees had been felled and blackened, their trunks scorched and split.
Isla swallowed hard. "Gods…"
Caius narrowed his eyes. "Someone made sure this place wouldn't rise again."
They descended slowly. Charred signs still hung loosely from rusted nails. One read Branlow. Another, barely legible, had once marked a baker's shop.
Isla crouched near what remained of a child's toy, half-melted in the dirt.
"It's like they wanted to erase them," she whispered.
Caius moved further into the ruin. "Someone survived this," he said suddenly.
Isla stood. "What?"
"Tracks," he said, pointing. "Fresh. Boots. Lighter than mine."
They followed the trail behind a collapsed barn and into the shadow of a broken stone wall.
That's when the voice rang out.
"Don't move."
They froze.
From behind a burnt beam, a boy emerged—maybe seventeen. He was lean, with ash-streaked blond hair and soot on his clothes. His eyes were sharp and tired, and his hands gripped a small, rusted blade.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Caius raised his hands a little. "Not here to fight, kid."
"Prove it."
Isla stepped forward slowly. "We're not with them. We're not part of the Midnight Circle."
The boy's eyes flared. "You know about them?"
"Too much," Caius muttered.
The boy looked between them, his breathing tight. "Then you're either with them or you're running from them."
"We're hunting them," Isla said.
That gave him pause. He lowered his knife a little.
"They burned this place to the ground," he said quietly. "Took my parents. I wasn't home that night… I came back to nothing."
"I'm sorry," Isla said gently.
He glanced away. "It was weeks ago. I've been staying here since. Watching the roads."
"Expecting them to come back?" Caius asked.
"To see if anyone else is looking for them," the boy replied. "You'd be surprised how many are."
"What's your name?" Isla asked.
"Finn."
"I'm Isla. This is Caius."
Finn nodded, though wariness still lingered behind his eyes. "You said you're hunting them?"
Finn led them deeper into the ruins, navigating broken walls and scorched earth like someone who had memorized every crack and ember. The sky above remained gray, as though even the sun refused to shine on what was left of Branlow.
They found shelter beneath the crumbled archway of an old chapel. The stained-glass windows had long since shattered, but the stone pews remained, now moss-covered and half-buried in rubble. Finn lit a small lantern, its flickering light casting long shadows across the fractured altar.
"I've been sleeping here," he said. "It's the only place the wind doesn't scream all night."
Isla sat down on a broken pew, pulling her cloak tighter. "You've really been here all this time? Alone?"
Finn nodded, crouching across from her. "I didn't want to leave. Not until I understood what happened. My parents… they used to talk in whispers about the Circle. About how it wasn't just some forgotten cult, but something ancient. Buried deep in the bones of this land."
Caius leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "How did your parents know about them?"
"My mother was a healer. People came to her with… strange things. Curses. Markings they couldn't explain. She always said there were threads connecting them all. Symbols, dreams, disappearances. My father—he was a scholar before he became a farmer. He collected old stories. Obsessively. Said there was a pattern behind every nightmare."
Isla's throat tightened. "My mother knew, too. About the Circle. She vanished years ago... wearing a pendant with their sigil."
Finn's eyes flicked to her. "A pendant?"
She nodded. "Oval-shaped. Etched in silver. It was with her when she disappeared."
He hesitated, then reached into a leather satchel by his side and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. When he opened it, it revealed a rough drawing—crude but unmistakable. The same sigil Caius had found in the library. The same one Isla had seen on her mother's pendant.
"I found this carved into a tree just outside the village," he said. "It wasn't there before the fire."
Caius pushed away from the wall and crouched beside them. "This symbol… it's following us. Or we're following it."
Finn looked between them. "You really want to face them?"
Isla didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"They won't stop," Finn said softly. "Not until they get what they want. And if you stand in their way…"
"We're already in their way," Caius cut in.
Silence fell for a moment. Only the wind moved—threading through the cracks of the chapel like a whisper.
Finn broke it. "There's an old stone path about a half-day's walk from here. My father once told me it led toward the sacrificial grounds. I never dared follow it… but if you're sure—"
"We are," Isla said.
Finn nodded. "Then I'll guide you as far as I can."
Caius arched a brow. "What's in it for you?"
Finn met his gaze, steady and unblinking. "Revenge."