Maggie shot him a hard look, but this time, there was no reproach. Only a nervous tension, the kind you feel in muscles just before striking. Like a drawn bow. Like a storm still holding back its cry.
Elisa nodded slowly. Her eyes shone with a new glint, not the reassuring kind. Something deeper, older. A fire beneath the ice. A silent acceptance of what they were becoming—or what they had always been.
They set off again, without a single word exchanged, their steps devoured the damp earth, cleaving the mist like a blade. The moor closed behind them, swallowing their silhouettes. Like three shadows lost in the grey.
The Hunt had resumed.
There was no more hesitation. No room for doubt, nor for turning back. It wasn't rage driving them, nor courage. It was something colder. Fear…
A visceral, absolute fear, but one they refused to yield to.
They walked as one enters a tomb. Or as one emerges from it.
