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I thought of the woman in strange clothing. The confusion in her eyes. The way she'd moved through the forest as though she didn't know the first thing about surviving in the wild.

“She's still out there,” I said. “The woman we saw. If we could find her, bring her back⁠—”

“You think one Weaver will satisfy him?”

“Perhaps. If she's connected to the group that ambushed us.” I met his gaze. “And I don't believe she is a Weaver. There was something different about her. Something. . . wrong.”

Garrick stared at me. “You want to go back into those woods and search for a woman who may or may not be connected to last night, based on a feeling?”

“Not alone. You're coming with me.”

“The devil I am.”

“Garrick—”

“No.” He stepped back, hands raised. “I'm not watching you throw your life away chasing mysteries because you cannot accept what happened. Your father wants blood? Very well. Let him have Ashby. But don't make it worse by getting yourself killed searching for this Weaver.”

“She may not be a weaver.” Though saying it aloud made it sound less certain. “ something about her. The way she was dressed, the way she moved—she doesn't fit. And if we can determine what she is, where she came from⁠—”

“Then what? Your father suddenly forgives our failure?” Garrick shook his head. “You're grasping at straws, August.”

He was right. Every logical part of my brain knew this was thin reasoning at best. Going back into those woods, searching for a woman who'd vanished into the night, all to satisfy some inexplicable instinct that she mattered.

But I couldn't shake it. Couldn't unsee the way she'd looked at me, as though I were the monster she'd stumbled onto by accident. Couldn't forget that strange clothing or the genuine terror in her eyes.

“I must try,” I said quietly.

Garrick was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed, deep and resigned. “You're going whether I accompany you or not, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“Damn you.” But there was no heat in it. “We leave now. And if we don't find her within two hours, we return. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

We retrieved our horses from the stable, moving quickly before anyone could question our purpose. The sun had fully risen now, burning away the morning mist and revealing Oxford in all its austere beauty. But I barely noticed.

All I could think about was the woman in the woods. The puzzle that didn’t fit. Finding her might be the only way to buy Ashby time.

Or condemn us all.

The ride to Thornwick Woods took less than twenty minutes. We moved in silence, both of us aware of what we risked. If Father discovered we'd gone back without permission, Ashby's fate would be the least of our problems.

The forest looked different in daylight. Less menacing, more mundane. Birds sang in the canopy. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in golden shafts. Nothing remained of last night's chaos except trampled undergrowth and a few scattered torches, burned down to stumps.

“Where do we even begin?” Garrick scanned the trees, hand resting on his weapon. “She could be anywhere by now.”

“She was running blind,” I said, dismounting. “Couldn't have gotten far before⁠—”

Before what? Before other Weavers found her? Before something worse happened in these woods that we didn't understand?

I pushed the thoughts away and focused on the ground. Tracks were still visible in the soft earth—boot prints that didn't match any of ours. Too small, the treads too uniform, with a pattern I'd never seen. And leading deeper into the forest, away from where the main group had fled.

“This way.”

We followed the trail on foot, tying our horses to a tree. The tracks were erratic, stumbling. Someone running without direction. They led us through dense undergrowth, over a small stream, past an ancient oak that had been split by lightning decades ago.

And then they stopped.