The forest was darker now, the moonlight barely piercing the dense canopy above. Taryn moved silently through the underbrush, her dagger drawn, every muscle taut. The cabin came into view as they crested a hill—a squat, weathered structure nestled against the rocky outcrop.
It was fortified. Iron brackets reinforced the wooden frame, and heavy shutters covered the windows. But the door was ajar, creaking gently in the faint breeze. Taryn halted, raising a hand to signal Lucien to stop.
"Looks abandoned," Lucien murmured, his voice low, but she caught the subtle tightness in his tone, likely from the wound he refused to fully acknowledge.
Taryn didn't respond. Her eyes swept the clearing, taking in every detail—the overgrown path, the trampled grass near the cabin, the faint smell of smoke lingering in the cool night air.
Someone had been here recently.
