They didn't speak of it openly in the inn. Too many ears.
Instead, Selene left a note folded beneath Ethan's tea cup at breakfast: "We're going. Pack light."
By midday, they had accepted a "guild request" to survey damaged farmland on the western edge of Norhollow. In truth, their route would bend south, away from the fields, toward the marsh.
The weather turned damp as they approached, the air thick with that heavy, sour smell Ethan remembered from their last visit.
Rowan was the first to notice the prints—deep in the mud, boot-shaped but wrong somehow. Too narrow at the heel, the impressions crisp as if made only hours ago.
"They're not ours," he said. "And they're heading straight in."
Marcus crouched, pressing a hand into one of the tracks. "Small feet. Lighter than me. Armed, though—see the notch here? Blade tip hit the ground."
They followed the trail deeper, past the edge where the reeds grew taller than a man. Twice, they found other signs: a torn scrap of cloth caught on a thorn, a dropped length of twine, both damp but not waterlogged. Whoever had been here wasn't careful.
Or they hadn't expected anyone to follow.
Ethan's system chimed faintly in his vision.
[Recent Activity Detected]
[Caution: Unknown Intent]
He frowned. "They're ahead of us. Close."
Selene slowed, signaling the others to stay low. The mud gave way to firmer ground, and soon they reached a shallow pool ringed by dead reeds. In the center, something floated.
It wasn't a body. Not entirely.
A Dark creature, split open from neck to gut, drifted in the water. The cuts were too clean to be from claws or teeth.
Lily knelt beside it. "Whoever's here knows how to kill them."
Rowan's voice was low. "Or knows how to make it look that way."
From deeper in the marsh, a faint metallic clink echoed—like chain links shifting.
Selene's hand went to her bow. "We're not alone."
The reeds ahead rustled. Something—or someone—moved, just out of sight.