Lorena knelt beside a patch of bloodroot, checking the leaves for signs of blight. The forest had been her responsibility for six years now, every deer track and owl nest part of the pattern she tended. She crushed a leaf between her fingers and breathed in the sharp scent. Then the birds stopped singing. The silence began somewhere east and rolled toward her like a held breath. Lorena stood and moved through the trees, following the wave. She found the clearing where light fell in golden columns through the canopy, where rare herbs grew in the rich soil. A woman crouched there, frantically cutting stems of moonwort and stuffing them into a canvas bag. Her hands shook. Blood stained her sleeve. When she looked up and saw Lorena, her eyes went wide with fear, but she didn't run. Instead, she whispered, "Please. They're three hours behind me. Maybe less." Her gaze flicked to the trees beyond, and Lorena felt it then—not the wrongness from the eastern den, but something else. Something moving closer. Lorena's skin prickled with the same crawling sensation she'd felt at the foxes' abandoned den. The woman grabbed another handful of moonwort, her movements clumsy with panic. Behind her, tucked against an ancient oak, sat a rough camp—a bedroll under canvas stretched between branches, a cold fire pit ringed with stones. The woman had been here for days, hiding and harvesting. Lorena stepped forward and knelt beside her. "Show me your wound," she said. The woman hesitated, then pulled back her sleeve to reveal a deep gash across her forearm, the edges black and swollen. Lorena recognized the rot immediately—something had poisoned this woman, something that didn't belong in any forest. She reached into her gathering pouch and pulled out dried comfrey and yarrow. "I can slow the spread," she said. "But you need to tell me what's hunting you." The woman's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what they are. I only know they don't stop." The woman's pack lay open beside the fire pit. Inside, Lorena saw bundles of herbs—feverfew, elderflower, silverleaf. All medicinal. All gathered with skill. Then she saw what lay beneath them: a sword wrapped in plain cloth, but where the fabric had torn, gold engravings gleamed in the filtered light. The design was unmistakable. Royal. Lorena's breath caught. She looked up at the woman, whose face had gone pale. "You stole from the crown," Lorena said. The woman shook her head hard. "It's mine. It was always mine." She gripped Lorena's wrist, her touch desperate. "Please. I came here because moonwort can draw poison. I need it to survive long enough to reach the border." Lorena felt the weight of the choice settle over her. This woman was running from something powerful, something that might follow her straight into the heart of the forest. But the wound was killing her, and Lorena had sworn to protect all living things within these trees. She began crushing the herbs between her palms. "We treat the wound first," she said. "Then you tell me everything."