The Binding
And then Ingrid appears at the edge of the clearing, looking like she’s been punched in the chest.
Her hands are curled into fists, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed on the mountain rising dark against the sky.
“Ingrid,” I call.
She doesn’t move.
I cross the snow quickly, boots crunching hard enough that the sound feels wrong in the tense quiet.
“What is it?” I ask, as Elias comes up on the other side of her.
But instead of Ingrid answering, Elias does.
“h-He’s tearing it apart.
Cold slides down my spine.
“What?”
He looks at me, fear evident in his eyes. “The threads,” he whispers quietly. “All of them.”
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