The forest was quiet. Not peaceful—never peaceful—but quiet in the way that warned of watching eyes.
Elena moved like a shadow beneath the trees, boots barely disturbing the moss as she slipped between gnarled roots and towering trunks. The light filtering through the leaves was pale and fractured, casting dancing patterns across her pale green cloak. Her breathing was calm. Focused.
She had been walking for nearly an hour. Not a single wasted step.
Her twin shortblades were strapped to her back, silent and balanced. Her senses were tuned to the rhythm of the woods—listening for movement, for breath, for anything that didn't belong.
'Just like I trained—deep in the dark, silent as shadow, always alone, damn I sounded like an edgy boy.'
The other heirs had scattered chaotically when the signal sounded, most of them rushing for quick kills and easy targets. It was the kind of behavior that separated hunters from amateurs.
Not her.
