The assassin's body was gone by morning, dragged off by scavengers, but his pack remained half-buried in the snow.
Reign knelt and pulled it open. A leather journal slid into her hands, its edges stiff with frost. She flipped through pages of careful script until words made her blood freeze.
"The Glaciara girl must never rise. By order of Elder Morgrim, eliminate before she reaches the southern territories."
Her pulse hammered. They knew exactly who she was. This wasn't about rumors or legends spreading through rogue camps. The Council had marked her for death the moment she survived exile.
She studied the handwriting. Precise. Professional. This assassin had been thorough in his preparation. Maps showed her hunting patterns, her preferred shelters, even the times when she was most vul
