Chapter 6

Sable's POV

The rogue chasing us never got the chance to catch up. Rook's group had already cut it down by the time we made it two steps past the ridge, and for a second I just stood there catching my breath, watching blood soak into the dirt where Ivy had put her knife through its throat earlier that night.

"We need to move," Rook said, already turning toward the trees. "Whoever sent these things knows exactly where to look next."

I didn't argue. My legs still felt like they belonged to someone else, but I fell in step behind him anyway, Ivy close on my other side.

We hadn't gone far when a different howl cut through the trees.

This one didn't sound like the others. It wasn't a hunting call, low and steady. It came out ragged, cut off too fast, like whoever made it didn't get to finish it.

Rook froze mid-stride.

"That's not a rogue," he said.

"What is it then?" I asked.

"That's one of ours." He was already moving, faster now, and everyone around him picked up the pace without needing to be told twice. "That's a call for help."

I ran to keep up, branches tearing at my arms again, my lungs still raw from the last chase. Ivy stayed right beside me, bow in hand, eyes scanning the dark like she expected something to jump out at any second.

"Who's out here tonight?" I asked her, breathless.

"Bram," she said. "Patrol shift. He shouldn't be anywhere near here."

"Then why is he?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

We broke through the tree line into a clearing, and I saw them before I fully understood what I was looking at. A cluster of Hollow wolves crouched low around something on the ground, torches already lit, voices low and urgent.

Rook shoved through the group without slowing down, and I followed, too curious and too scared not to.

A boy lay in the dirt, barely out of his teens, blood soaking through his shirt in a wide dark patch along his side. His breathing came in short, wet gulps, each one sounding worse than the last. Rook dropped down beside him and pressed both hands hard against the wound, jaw tight.

"Bram. Stay with me."

"Rook…" someone else said, voice shaking. "It's bad. It's real bad."

"I know it's bad." Rook didn't look up. "Somebody get Yarrow. Now."

"She's a half mile back at camp, there's no…"

"Then somebody run faster than they've ever run in their life."

I stood there for a second, frozen, watching blood pool between Rook's fingers no matter how hard he pressed. Something in me wouldn't let me just stand there and watch.

I dropped to my knees on Bram's other side before I even decided to move.

"What are you doing?" Rook snapped.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I have to do something."

Nobody stopped me. Maybe they were too scared, or too desperate, or too far past caring who tried what at this point. I put my hands over the wound next to Rook's, and the second my palms touched blood and torn skin, something inside my chest twisted hard, like a muscle I didn't know I had clenching for the first time.

"What is that," someone whispered behind me.

I didn't answer. My hands had started to feel warm, warmer than they should, warmer than the cold night around us had any right to make them.

"Sable," Ivy said carefully. "Your hands."

I looked down. A faint light had started under my palms, barely there, flickering against Bram's skin like a candle catching for the first time. I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew I couldn't stop.

"Keep going," Rook said, voice low, urgent. "Whatever that is, keep doing it."

Bram's breathing hitched. For one terrible second I thought I'd made things worse, that whatever was happening under my hands was hurting him instead of helping. Then his chest rose, a little steadier than before, and the wet rattle in his throat eased just slightly.

"It's working," someone said, disbelief thick in their voice. "Moon goddess, it's actually working."

I kept my hands pressed to the wound, watching the light pulse faint and slow, feeling something drain out of me with every second that passed. My arms started to shake. My vision blurred at the edges. I pushed through it anyway, because stopping felt like it would undo whatever ground I'd already covered.

"Sable, you're going pale," Ivy said. "You need to stop."

"Not yet."

"You're going to pass out."

"I said not yet."

Bram's eyes fluttered.

They opened slow, unfocused at first, blinking against torchlight and pain and whatever was left of the shock still working through him. His gaze drifted around the circle of faces above him, confused, searching.

Then his eyes landed on me.

Not on my face. Lower, right at my collarbone, right where the mark still sat raw and red under the torn collar of my dress. His whole body went rigid, more than the pain alone should've caused, and his hand shot up to grab my wrist with a strength I didn't expect from someone who'd been bleeding out a minute ago.

"Bram, easy," Rook said. "She's helping you."

Bram didn't look at Rook. He didn't look away from the mark on my chest, and whatever was going through his head right then had nothing to do with gratitude.

"You're the one they warned us about.”