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Adrenaline flooded my system. My legs obeyed before my mind caught up. We sprinted through the undergrowth, branches tearing at my clothes. She moved like a wild creature, barefoot and silent, leading me through gaps I could barely see.

Behind us, the pursuit grew louder. Torches flickered between the trees, casting wild shadows that danced and leaped. I heard them calling to each other, coordinating, closing in.

A branch snapped too close.

A figure stepped into our path.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a long coat that belonged to another century. A revolver gleamed at his hip, polished metal catching the torchlight. His face was hidden in shadow, but his stare crawled over us—calculating, predatory.

I shoved the girl behind me on pure instinct, but hands seized my arms from behind. Strong. Unforgiving. I twisted and kicked, fighting with all I had, but it was no use. They were not just stronger than me—they trained for this. This was what they did. Hunt people.

“Let go of her!” I shouted as a man closed in on the girl.

“And why would I let a Weaver go?” my captor snarled in my ear, his grip tightening until my bones ached. “That's what we're here for.”

Weaver. The words meant nothing to me, but the venom in his voice made my blood run cold.

They dragged us between the trees toward the torchlight. My mind raced, trying to process what was going on.

We emerged in a clearing—torchlight on one side, the men forming a half-circle around us. My captor’s grip tightened as I took in the scene, men on horseback, their uniforms precise and military but wrong for any army I recognized. Long coats reinforced with leather, high collars, brass buttons catching the firelight. Everything about them screamed order, discipline, control.

And sitting astride a dark horse, utterly still in the chaos, was the most devastatingly handsome man I had ever seen.

The thought hit me like a physical blow, completely inappropriate given the circumstances. Firelight carved his features sharp: strong jaw, storm-colored eyes that missed nothing, dark hair that looked one breath away from falling across his brow. He was young, late twenties maybe, but carried himself with an authority that made the others defer to his slightest gesture.

His gaze cut to me—then lingered. Not pity. Not curiosity. Assessment. It dragged down to my jeans, my modern boots, my sweater that had no place in this century, then snapped back up. For one heartbeat, disbelief flickered across his face before control slammed back into place.

Everything else fell away. The shouting. The torches. The chaos. Just his gaze holding mine across the smoke-thick air.

Something coiled in my chest—sharp, impossible. Recognition without understanding, as if the air itself bent between us, pulling taut like a thread drawn tight.

The young girl began to fight like a cornered animal, all desperate fury and sharp elbows. But then her struggling stopped. Her breathing steadied. She looked directly at me, and her eyes were full of starlight.

The man on the horse shifted, but his eyes didn’t leave my own. Just slightly, a tilt of his head, the barest narrowing of his eyes. As if he'd heard something the others hadn't.

Then the air changed.

It started as a whisper—a sound like silk tearing. The vibration traveled through my bones and made my teeth ache. The girl's eyes blazed brighter, impossibly bright, and suddenly the clearing erupted.

Threads.

Thousands of them, materializing from nothing—gossamer filaments catching torchlight, reflecting it back in silver and gold. They wove through the air like living things, beautiful and terrible, crisscrossing in patterns too complex to follow.

One brushed my cheek. Cold. Electric.

The world fractured.

“What. . .” My captor's voice died as the threads converged.

One of the hunters cried out, clutching his sword arm. It hung useless at his side, fingers splayed and trembling as if the strength had simply left him. Another stumbled, his leg buckling beneath him for no visible reason. He hit the ground hard, confusion twisting his face.

“Ambush!” someone shouted. “They're in the trees!”

But there was no one in the trees. Just those threads, multiplying, spreading like spider silk across the clearing. The horses screamed and reared, their eyes rolling white with terror at something only they could sense.

A hunter to my left swung his blade at shadows. “There! I see them! Three—no, five⁠—”

“Nothing there, you fool!” Another man, weapon raised, spinning to face threats that didn't exist.