Ember Blaise hunted monsters for a living, but today the whole frozen Barrens hunted her. She stood under a tree made of ice, its branches dripping thin spears, and read the wanted poster nailed to the trunk. The drawing showed her own face. Below it, the bounty matched the price the queen had set on the frost-wraith she needed to catch. Deliver that wraith to the court and win her pardon. Get recognized first, and some stranger would collect coin for her head instead. She needed answers. Trappers had seen the wraith near the frozen river, but every honest soul out here could sell her out. So she went where honest souls never came. A crack in the rock led down to a cave lit by swinging lanterns. A crooked sign read Hidden Hollow Tavern. Inside, outcasts hunched over cups and did not look up. These people never read royal postings. That was exactly why she chose them. Ember kept her hood low and sat beside a trapper with frost in his beard. "The wraith," she said. "Where does it den?" He squinted. Then his eyes went wide. "You're her. The one on the posts." His mouth opened to shout. She moved fast. From her coat she pulled a carved stone covered in runes. She pressed it flat to the table. The man's voice died in his throat. He clutched his neck, gaping, no sound coming out. The tavern stayed loud around them. No one noticed. "Listen," Ember whispered. "I don't want you. I want the wraith. Nod and you breathe again." He nodded, pale. She lifted the stone. He gasped and drew air. "The ice grove," he rasped. "North, past the broken bridge. It nests there. But girl, you can't walk the Barrens. Your face is on every tree between here and the court." He was right, and the stone could not silence a whole road. Ember drew a second item from her coat. The vial glowed blue and green, the ink inside turning like smoke. She had taken it off a dead forger weeks ago. It changed whatever it touched. She climbed back to the ice tree and uncapped it. One drop on the poster, and the shimmering ink crawled across her painted face. The lines shifted. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw squared. The drawing was no longer her. A shape moved at her boot. A round white creature nosed the snow, fluffy and fearless, watching the ink glow. Ember knelt and smeared a thumb of it along the thing's broad back. The ink spread. Now the creature's fur showed her old face, soft and harmless. She almost laughed. She had her answer and a way to hide it. But the forger's ink was precious, and only drops remained. The Barrens held a hundred more posters, and the ice grove lay far to the north. Ember capped the vial, pulled her hood tight, and started walking toward the broken bridge.