Page 9 of The Midnight Death Match

Sapphire rumbles again, as if to promise she’ll do more than that.

I slide to the ground. Harek lands beside me. We both pull up our hoods. I glance at Einar.

My father stands still as a statue, like a blade sheathed in patience.

Harek and I slip through the trees toward the side path, the one we took to avoid the main road before. It winds along the edge of the stream, half-overgrown, shielded by pine and fog even in the summer.

Once we reach town, I feel the weight of every glance despite the protection of our hoods. A boy hauling water from the well sees us and drops the bucket. He stares, eyes wide, then runs without saying a word.

My stomach knots.

Two women hanging linens freeze mid-motion. One whispers something sharp, and the other folds her arms and turns away.

We continue walking.

Every house we pass is marked. Not with flowers or harvest ribbons like last season, but with chalk lines, painted glyphs—protection runes, but warped and twisted into something repelling. I recognize one of them from old texts. It’s a banishment sigil.

They’re not just afraid of fae. They’re afraid of me.

Harek nudges me as we turn into a narrow alley behind the bakery. “Look up.”

A piece of parchment flaps against the wall, pinned by a rusted nail. My heart skips as I read it.

Beware the Huntress. Blood betrays.

There’s a crude drawing beneath the words—hair too long, blade too thick—but it’s obvious who it’s meant to be.

I tear it down and shove it into my cloak.

“Stay focused,” Harek murmurs. “We need to get in and out quickly.”

I nod, though my hands shake. My breath too.

The farm is only two streets away now. The sooner we reach it, the sooner I can see Runa. Brynja. Make sure they’re safe. Find out how my other siblings are doing. Life at home is bound to be rough on them.

Gunnar is without a doubt furious with me. I’ve cost him so much in his eyes. He thought he was going to get such a rich dowry from the marriage he arranged. I shudder at the thought of how narrowly I escaped that horror. Now my stepfather is wounded by me.

He knows I’m a werewolf. Certainly has told everyone in Skoro by now.

I’m a pariah in the place I grew up.

The sooner we can leave this place, the better. We make our way through the farm’s property, darting from building to building. I could make my way unseen in my sleep, I’ve done it so many times before.

I hesitate at the house, but the back door creaks in such a familiar way it’s like I never left. We slip inside in silence. It still smells like sun-dried herbs and wood smoke. Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed.

Harek stations himself by the door without a word, nodding for me to go on without him.

I move quietly down the hall, avoiding the step that always creaked, past the worn hearth and the dented cupboard, until I reach the room at the end.

Runa leaps into my arms before I can say a word. Her arms wrap tight around my waist, and for a moment, I let myself forget the glares, the whispers, the totems in the trees. I just hold her.

“I knew you’d come back,” she whispers.

Brynja stands behind her, arms crossed, jaw tight. Taller now, after only a few months. “You shouldn’t be here. They’re watching the roads. Watching us.”

“I had to check on you.”

“Well, now you’ve checked. Go. It’s too big of a risk. You’re lucky to have come when Father is at the market.”

---