Page 128 of Iron Beneath the Snow

“Seal the lower gates.”

He was already moving before the command fully carried through the corridor.

There was no armor, no escort, nothing that would slow him down—only speed and certainty.

Behind him, he heard movement.

“Stay here,” one of the guards snapped.

No answer followed.

He did not look back.

Eira

She followed before her thoughts had time to form a coherent argument against it.

One of the guards reached for her as she passed.

She slipped beyond his hand without slowing.

Containment belonged to quieter nights, to situations that allowed for distance and deliberation, and this was neither.

Soren

The scent reached him before the movement did, cutting cleanly through the cold air and anchoring his focus with immediate clarity. Fear lay sharp within it, layered with blood and Frostvein resin oil.

He followed without slowing, tracking it through the inner corridor, across the courtyard, and toward the northern wall where the snow had begun to thin against the stone.

The fleeing wolf moved with discipline rather than panic, choosing his path carefully, avoiding abrupt turns and unnecessary motion.

There was no hesitation in the trajectory, no wasted energy.

He had studied the exits.

That alone changed the shape of the breach.

The trail angled toward the supply shed before breaking sharply upward as the attacker vaulted the low outer wall in a single fluid motion. Soren cleared it a breath later, his boots striking the slope beyond with enough force to carry him forward without breaking momentum.

They hit the descent almost together.

Mid-stride, the grey cloak tore as the attacker shifted first, the transformation unfolding with violent efficiency as bone lengthened and split, fur breaking through fabric in a rapid, controlled rupture.

Soren followed without hesitation.

The shift tore through him with familiar force, joints cracking into new alignment, vision sharpening as claws met the surface of the snow. There was no grace in it, only function, the body reconfiguring itself to match the terrain and the hunt.

The mountain received them as wolves.

White stretched beneath them, broken only by the grey shape ahead, the distance between them narrowing with each stride as the mark beneath his skin burned hotter rather than cooling, sharpening his perception until the world reduced to movement, direction, and target.

The fleeing wolf cut left toward the lower ravine, choosing ground that dropped sharply and offered the promise of cover where the treeline thickened.

The decision was sound.

It did not matter.

Soren lunged before the turn fully resolved, closing the gap at an angle that disrupted the escape rather than following it.