The quiet of the morning didn't last.

It started as a faint rhythm beneath the normal forest sounds — a thud, pause, thud — until even the birds fell silent. Guinevere froze mid-bite, her eyes flicking to JJ. He'd gone completely still, head tilted as though listening to something far away.

Then came the sound of running feet, faster now, crunching through pine needles.

A boy no older than twelve burst into the clearing, panting hard, his cheeks flushed. "JJ! Libbet!" His voice cracked from the effort. "They've found us!"

Libbet stood instantly, her expression tightening. "Where?"

The boy gulped air, eyes darting to Guinevere. "Just past the southern ridge. Hollowborn. Four, maybe more. Moving fast."

JJ was already slinging his bow across his chest and strapping a dagger to his hip. "Get back to the village. Tell 'em to bar the gates and light the signal pyres."

The boy nodded, bolting back the way he'd come.

Guinevere's heart pounded. "The village? There's a whole village here?"

"Aye," Libbet said, grabbing a leather satchel and stuffing it with food. "Safe enough, if we can get to it in time."

JJ moved to her side, his tone brisk but steady. "We've got less than an hour before they close the gap. You'll see the village soon enough — and we'll pray the Hollowborn don't see it first."

As they began to pack the camp with practiced speed, Guinevere caught the glint of unease in Libbet's eyes. "You said the people there know about the White Princess," she pressed. "Will they believe I'm her?"

Libbet hesitated just a moment too long. "Some will. Some... won't like it."

JJ cut in, shouldering his pack. "We'll deal with that when we get there. Right now, we run."

And without another word, the three of them plunged into the forest, the distant, hollow cries of their pursuers echoing between the trees.

They ran hard, the forest a blur of green and grey. Guinevere's legs burned, each breath sharp in her lungs, but JJ set a pace that allowed no stopping. Libbet kept behind her, glancing over her shoulder every few steps as if expecting the Hollowborn to emerge from the shadows at any moment.

The air grew thicker as they climbed a steep incline. When they reached the crest, Guinevere caught sight of it — a distant ridge crowned by plumes of dark smoke spiraling into the sky.

"The signal pyres," JJ said, not slowing his stride. "Means the village knows trouble's comin'."

Below, nestled in a bend of the river, was a cluster of wooden halls and watchtowers, their roofs thatched in straw, all ringed by a tall palisade wall. Men and women moved quickly along the outer walkways, carrying bows, spears, and bundles of arrows toward the gates.

"Almost there," Libbet urged, though her voice carried a note of unease. "But if the pyres are lit, the Hollowborn aren't far."

Guinevere's gaze drifted to the forest beyond the village — and her breath caught. Just at the treeline, in the shifting shadows, she saw movement. Shapes. Tall, lean, too many joints bending the wrong way. They didn't run so much as glide, the sun glinting faintly off eyes that were far too bright.

JJ saw them too. "Move!"

The three of them plunged down the slope, the pounding of their feet matched now by the growing, bone-deep thrum of the Hollowborn closing in. As they neared the village, the great wooden gates began to swing open, guards shouting for them to hurry.

Guinevere didn't dare look back again — not until she was inside those walls.

That night, the village buzzed with activity. Guards patrolled the walls in pairs, torches casting long, flickering shadows across the wooden palisade. The Hollowborn hadn't attacked yet, but their cries had echoed through the forest until well after dusk.

Guinevere sat by the small cot they'd given her, staring at the rough-hewn walls of the hut. The air smelled faintly of smoke and pine. From somewhere beyond the village center, she could hear Libbet's voice speaking low to JJ — too far away to catch the words, but her name came up more than once.

They'd promised answers. More truths about who she was, about her parents, about this strange blood running in her veins. But the thought of hearing it made her chest tighten. She already felt like she was drowning in revelations, and every new detail was another stone pulling her under.

She rose quietly, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Her mind drifted to her father — the warm weight of his hand on her shoulder when she was small, the way his laugh rumbled like far-off thunder. She thought of her mother's voice singing her to sleep, soft and certain, the scent of lavender lingering in her hair.

And then there was her brother. Her only sibling. She didn't know why his face was the sharpest in her memory, why she thought of him now. Maybe it was the way he'd always stood between her and danger when they were children, or the way he'd promised to protect her no matter the cost.

Is he still looking for me? Or has he... stopped believing I'm alive?

The thought was unbearable.

She glanced once toward the door, listening for footsteps. The night was still, the guards far off on the walls. Without another pause, she slipped outside, hugging the shadows. Her path to the gates was quick and silent, every instinct urging her forward.

By the time she reached the outer edge of the village, the only sound was the steady rush of the river — and her own pounding heartbeat. She didn't look back.