Page 152 of Shadowfox

We dropped where we stood, our bodies low in the ditch, brambles scraping my cheek and tugging at the hem of my coat. Sparrow pressed Eszter into the earth, shielding the girl with her body. Egret flattened out behind a dead tree stump, his eyes flicking toward the road.

The car rolled past, a black sedan, its engine barely above a whisper. It moved slowly—tooslowly.

“Keep still,” I breathed, unsure if anyone even heard me.

And then a door opened.

Not all the way. Just a creak.

I braced myself to run.

Then it shut again, followed by the faint crunch of tires warring with gravel. The car accelerated and disappeared over the hill.

We waited another few minutes before moving. No one said anything.

Eszter was curled inside Sparrow’s coat, shivering from cold or fright—or both.

“Let’s keep moving,” Will whispered, then added the most unnecessary words spoken that night. “No flashlights.”

We pressed deeper into the fields, avoiding the main roads.

The ground turned ugly fast—wet with thaw, riddled with ditches and collapsed fence posts half hidden in the dark. At one point, Egret stumbled on a root and nearly took Sparrow and Eszter with him. Sparrow caught herself on her knee, whispering a curse and brushing mud off her coat. Eszter clung tighter, her face pale and drawn.

We passed a small apple orchard. The trees were mostly skeletons now, their gnarled limbs reaching skyward like mourners. Farkas limped more with every mile, clutching the box under his coat like it might vanish if he let it go. He wheezed, breath tight in his chest. Will offered to carry the box for a while, but Farkas refused.

“I made it,” he said, hoarse. “I’ll carry it.”

“No one’s questioning your worth,” Will replied, but he let it drop.

I gritted my teeth with every step, the ache in my shoulder climbing toward agony. My vision blurred once, and I almost went down. Will caught me by the elbow.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

“You’re not,” he said. “But I’m here.”

I didn’t reply, just nodded and kept moving.

Somewhere near the halfway mark, we crested a narrow rise and heard voices.

Russianvoices.

We dropped again, this time into a thicket of dead brush that tore at our clothes and pricked our skin. The sounds came from across a shallow valley—two men speaking in low, clipped tones. I didn’t catch all the words, but I understood enough.

“ . . . orders to patrol the crossing . . .”

“ . . . if anyone’s spotted . . . shoot first.”

Shoot first?

The words echoed louder in my mind than they had in the valley.

Sparrow pressed Eszter’s head down into her coat. Will’s hand found mine in the dark. I squeezed it.

We waited.

The men moved on, their flashlights carving brief windows of light through the trees before vanishing again. When we moved this time, we were slower, more cautious, with the kind of silence that made your ears ring.

Then—snap.

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