The storm worsens near dawn.

Snow buries the mountain trails so completely that even the old hunting markers disappear beneath white, shifting drifts. The wind howls a furious, relentless gale through the narrow pine gaps, turning the world into a blinding wall of white.

Anastasia keeps walking anyway. One step. Then another. Then another.

Her body moves purely on instinct now, not strength. The sheer physical devastation of the bond sickness keeps tearing through her in waves strong enough to blur her vision.

Every few minutes, pain twists sharply beneath her ribs where the mate bond breaks apart inch by painful inch. It feels like an open wound that refuses to clot, a violent tearing of muscle and spirit that leaves her gasping for air.

She falls twice before sunrise.

The second time, she stays down longer. The snow melts weakly against her flushed cheek while the freezing wind tears through the skeletal branches above her.

Get up.

Nobody says the words aloud. Her wolf remains silent, deeply buried beneath the trauma of Kaelen's public rejection. Still gone. Still dead to the world.

Anastasia closes her eyes briefly, letting the numbing frost seep into her skin. The silence inside her hurts far more than the biting cold.

For twenty-four years, she never spends a single day truly alone. Her wolf breathes beside every fear, every nightmare, every quiet moment of her existence. They are a single soul split into two forms.

Now—nothing answers her. 

A fresh wave of pain hits suddenly, sharper than before. Anastasia curls instinctively into herself as blood rises hot and metallic into her throat. She coughs hard into the snow, the force of it racking her fragile frame.

Deep red stains spread across the white, pristine ice immediately.

The scent carries.

Miles away, shifting on the wind, something changes direction.

Rogues.

Three of them. They are lean, feral wolves half-starved from the brutal winter, cruel enough to hunt weakened scents near the outer territories where no pack law can protect the vulnerable. The lead wolf lifts its scarred muzzle sharply, nostrils flaring.

Blood. Female. Weak.

The small pack changes its pace instantly, moving into a low, predatory lope through the drifts.

----

Meanwhile, Anastasia reaches the edge of a narrow, jagged ravine before her legs finally give out completely. She collapses hard against the frozen stone, her breath hitching in her throat.

The world tilts sideways. Snow falls thick around her while darkness creeps slowly, insidiously into the corners of her vision.

Her fingers barely move anymore inside her gloves.

For one dangerous, exhausting second, the thought appears quietly in the back of her mind: Maybe stopping would hurt less. 

Anastasia presses her eyes shut hard, teeth chattering.

No. Not here. Not like this.

She survives Kaelen. She survives the cruelty of Black Hollow. She does not die alone in the freezing snow like something abandoned and forgotten by the world.

----

A low, vibrating growl suddenly echoes somewhere beyond the heavy trees.

Anastasia freezes, her muscles locking. Another growl answers it, closer this time.

Rogues.

Her pulse stutters weakly against her ribs. Normally, her wolf would rise instantly at the first whisper of danger, flooding her veins with adrenaline and teeth.

Branches crack nearby. Heavy, unhurried paws crush through the deep snow.

Three wolves emerge slowly through the veil of the storm. They are gray, thin, and starving, their ribs showing prominently through matted, scarred fur. Their eyes lock onto Anastasia immediately with the unsettling intelligence of desperate predators.

The lead rogue snarls low, saliva dripping from its jaws at the fresh scent of her blood.

Anastasia forces herself backward, scraping her spine against the jagged ravine wall. Her hand reaches automatically, sluggishly toward the silver healing knife hidden beneath her traveling cloak.

The movement is weak. Too weak.

The rogues notice her hesitation. The lead wolf steps closer, its muscles bunching as it prepares to spring.

Then—everything stops.

The three rogues freeze instantly, their ears pinning back. It is not fear that stops them, but pure, hardwired instinct.

Another scent cuts through the heavy blizzard.

Cold. Ancient. 

Anastasia smells it too. It is entirely different from Black Hollow. It carries none of the pine smoke and cedar of the northern territory wolves. This is something completely unfamiliar, heavier, darker. The temperature in the ravine itself seems to plummet into an impossible deep freeze.

The lead rogue slowly backs up one step, a whine catching in its throat.

A second later, darkness moves through the trees. Fast. Silent.

The first rogue dies before Anastasia fully sees what attacks it. A massive, shadowy black shape explodes from the storm, tearing through the gray wolf's throat in one brutal, terrifying motion. Blood sprays violently across the white snow, steaming in the freezing air.

The remaining two rogues panic immediately, turning to flee the overwhelming presence.

Too late.

Another shadow wolf appears behind them soundlessly. This beast is not gray or silver; it is a black so deep and unnatural that it seems to absorb the very light of the storm. The second rogue barely manages half a scream before massive claws open its ribs, collapsing it into the drifts.

The third rogue turns to run, leaping toward the treeline. A low, sharp whistle cuts through the forest. Then silence again.

Something huge moves once through the shadows of the trees. The rogue collapses headless into the snow, its body skidding to a halt.

Stillness returns instantly afterward, heavy and absolute.

Anastasia stares weakly at the empty forest where the three rogues now lie completely lifeless, their blood expanding in dark, steaming pools across the frozen ground.

The largest shadow wolf watches her silently for several long, suffocating seconds, measuring her weakness. Anastasia's exhausted body trembles harder under the weight of that quiet stare.

She survives the attack, but the sheer terror and the effort to stay upright drain the absolute last of her strength. 

She can no longer support her awakeness. The edges of her vision blur into an aggressive, consuming blackness, swallowing the white mountain cliffs and the silhouettes of the trees. 

Anastasia collapses, the freezing drifts rushing up to meet her face as she faints completely into the cold, silent snow.

----

Meanwhile, at the Black Hollow border. "Search! Block every single ridge!"

Kaelen's roar was nearly swallowed by the blizzard. He had shifted completely, a massive silver wolf tearing through the drifts, his claws carving deep tracks into the frozen earth.

The lingering scent trail was critically thin. He caught a faint, fragmented trace of herbal anise and raced blindly toward the eastern mountain pass.

The wind was weakest there, the most logical escape route his mind could calculate. The silver wolf's pupils narrowed to slits, tracking toward the wrong direction.

----

An overwhelming scent of a terrifying, sovereign Alpha King instantly claimed the entire quadrant.

Through the blur, she could make out only a long, heavy wool coat, its hem snapping violently against the wind.

A man stood there.

He faced the gale, radiating an oppressive, suffocating authority, walking toward her, his boots heavy and deliberate.

He knelt, the black fabric of his coat spreading across the stained snow.

He extended a long, leather-gloved finger, cupping her blood-smeared chin with unyielding strength, yet his motion carried no malice.

He looked down at her.

A low, dark, authoritative voice fell heavily through the silent winter night: "Who hurt you?"