Serena's breath hitched as the presence shifted closer.
The pressure in her chest sharpened, no longer vague or imagined. It was familiar now, and the realization cut through the haze of pain and exhaustion with startling clarity.
The scent reached her fully.
Her brow furrowed as recognition settled in, steady and unmistakable. This was not the rot of rogues or the neutral edge of soldiers. It was the same scent from the clearing, the same presence that had intervened when she should have died.
"You're the wolf from earlier," she said quietly, her voice rough but steady. "The one who helped me."
She swallowed and forced herself to continue, even as her side burned with every breath.
"Thank you," Serena said. "You didn't have to do that."
She shifted her weight slightly, bracing herself against the rock, making no attempt to rise. Her gratitude did not soften her posture, and it did not dull her awareness.
"I know you followed me," she added, her gaze fixed on the shadows between the trees.
She let out a shaky breath and gave a short, humorless laugh as she shook her head.
"Right then. Good talk. I'm losing my mind," she said, the words rough from exhaustion as she struggled to catch her breath.
His voice came from the darkness, steady and unhurried, carrying easily through the trees as if distance meant nothing to him.
"You're not losing your mind."
"I was there earlier," he said. "You were wounded, cornered, and acting like the most dangerous thing in the clearing."
"From where I stood," he added, amused, "you looked like a wet kitten declaring war."
"You thanked me," Dexmon continued after a minute. "Unnecessary. Polite, though."
She ignored him, drawing in air again, slower this time, sorting through the layers of scent around her.
Elara.
Her jaw set as she searched for that thinner, lighter trail, forcing herself to stay upright even as her body trembled. Whoever was watching her from the trees, would have to wait.
He shifted in the trees moving closer, but still not revealing himself.
"You know, most people don't keep running after the stabbing part," he went on. "Bold choice."
"I was curious how far you'd make it."
"Turns out—farther than expected."
Serena turned away from his voice and started forward again.
She forced her shoulders back despite the pain.
"Your concern earlier is noted," she said. "Unnecessary. Polite, though."
A laugh followed her. Low. Amused.
"Here's the problem," Dexmon said. "You're not actually going anywhere."
"You can try," he continued lightly. "By all means continue. Prove me wrong."
Serena laughed under her breath.
"That's a lot of confidence for someone hiding in the dark."
"When you fall," Dexmon said calmly, "I'm stepping in. That's not a negotiation."
She ignored him and continued. The ground began to slope, the air thinning and cooling as the trees changed around her. She slowed only when a familiar note threaded through the cold, the blood, and the sharp scent of pine.
Elara.
The trail was faint and uneven, already breaking apart, but it was there.
Serena closed her eyes briefly and adjusted her path, angling toward it without conscious thought. Her pace quickened despite the sharp protest of her body, adrenaline drowning out the warning signals one by one.
She did not realize how badly she was swaying until she nearly missed a step.
Behind her, unseen, Dexmon followed her through the trees.
He watched her lock onto a fading scent and understood what she had been running toward.
His jaw was locked, feeling her pain through the matebond.
He had already let this go on longer than he should have.