Where Blood Should Have Been
While Soren was still kneeling in horror before the sight that shattered his world, Victor and the two women continued climbing toward the place where the hunters had supposedly seen the dead mountain ogre.
The mountain path narrowed as they ascended. Jagged rocks pushed through the soil like broken teeth. The wind carried a dry chill now, whistling low between scattered pines. It was the kind of place where sound traveled strangely—too far, too clearly.
Victor walked in front, steps measured and unhurried.
Lane moved slightly to his left, eyes scanning the higher ridges and tree line. Clara walked to his right, her gaze constantly shifting—ground, horizon, shadows, Victor.
They said the head was found here.
Victor stopped when they reached a rocky clearing carved unevenly into the slope. It wasn't large, but it was exposed. A few broken shrubs. Loose gravel. A slanted stone face stained darker than the rest of the rock.
