The forest seemed endless, its tall, skeletal trees reaching toward the sky, blotting out the weak winter sun. Misery moved quietly but with purpose, her boots crunching against the frozen ground. Every breath she exhaled turned to mist, vanishing quickly in the frigid air. The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her, but she refused to let it show. The satchel slung across her shoulder was light, holding only the essentials—a blade, a few pieces of dried meat, and a small flask of water. She had left the werewolf pack behind without a second glance.
She had barely made it past the first stretch of forest when a figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking her path. Adrian. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his presence felt like a wall.
“You’re leaving,” he said, his voice flat. It wasn’t a question.
Misery stopped, her fingers brushing instinctively against the hilt of her dagger. “What gave it away?” she shot back, her tone defensive but laced with weariness.
Adrian let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “You think this is a good idea? Walking out there alone?”
“I don’t need your approval,” Misery replied, stepping to the side to continue past him. “And I don’t need a babysitter.”
Adrian didn’t move, his body blocking her path. “Lyra needs you,” he said sharply. “You’re her only ally in that pack. If you leave now, you’re abandoning her. Abandoning everything we’ve been fighting for.”
Misery’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what I’m leaving behind?” Her voice rose slightly before she forced herself to calm. “But tell me, Adrian—what am I supposed to do? Wait until one of them tears my throat out? Or worse, just stands there and watches?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides. “You don’t understand what you’re walking into. Seraphine isn’t someone you can reason with. She’ll break him, Misery. She’ll use him until there’s nothing left.”
“Then he needs someone who won’t break him,” Misery snapped, her voice hard. “Someone who won’t judge him for what he’s becoming.”
Adrian stepped closer, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. “And what if you can’t fix him? What if you’re just another piece of the wreckage he’s trying to crawl out from? What happens then, Misery? Have you thought that far ahead?”
Her grip on the strap of her satchel tightened. “I don’t need to ‘fix’ him, Adrian. I need to remind him who he is. Because if I don’t…” She hesitated, her voice trembling slightly. “Who will?”
Adrian’s shoulders stiffened, and his expression shifted. For a moment, the sharp edge of his frustration gave way to something softer, something almost vulnerable. “You think it’s that simple? He’s not the same Eryon you knew.”
Misery’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual confidence. “Neither am I.”
Adrian’s eyes searched hers, his anger melting into resignation. “You love him,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady.
Misery didn’t flinch. She met his gaze head-on, her voice firm. “Yes.”
The word hung between them like a declaration, cutting through the tension. Adrian’s expression tightened, but he stepped aside, his boots crunching against the frost as he moved to let her pass. “Fine,” he said, his voice low. “Go. But when it all falls apart, don’t come running back.”
Misery hesitated, her hand brushing against her dagger. “I don’t expect you to understand,” she said softly. “But I have to try.”