The Hollow Heart

The cold was not a passive thing. It was a predator, seeking out the gaps in Elara’s threadbare cloak, hunting for the heat of her skin.

Elara pulled her knees to her chest, trying to make herself smaller within the cramped confines of the Iron-Root Hollow. The space was little more than a cavity beneath a rot-stricken oak, smelling of wet earth, dead leaves, and the metallic tang of dried blood.

"Shh," she whispered, her breath blooming in white clouds. "It’s okay, Kael. You’re okay."

Curled in her lap was a wolf pup. He was small, no larger than a fox, his fur a matted mess of charcoal and slate. He shivered violently, a low, pained whine vibrating in his throat.

Elara rested her hand on his flank, careful to avoid the crude bandage wrapped around his hind leg. The iron arrowhead was still lodged there, poisoning his blood, locking his shifting magic. He had been a proud, six-foot youth two days ago, laughing as he chopped wood for their fire. Now, he was this—small, defenseless, and burning with fever.

Kael nudged his wet nose against her palm. His eyes, usually a piercing amber, were glassy and dull.

"I know," Elara murmured, brushing the dirt from his ears. "It hurts. The iron hates you."

She closed her eyes, reaching for the well of her magic. It was a dry, scraping sensation. She had almost nothing left. She pushed a tiny pulse of warmth into her hand, just enough to ease the ache in his leg.

Kael let out a soft huff of relief and rested his head on her knee.

"We’re close," Elara whispered, more to herself than to him. "Just past the ridge is the Frozen Creek. Once we cross the water, the Witch-Hunters’ scent-hounds lose the trail. We’ll be in the Wildlands."

Kael’s ear twitched. He let out a small, grumbling sound—a distinct cadence she knew by heart. *Liar.*

Elara smiled weakly. "I’m not lying. We’ll build that cabin, remember? By the lake. You can fish. I’ll dry herbs. We’ll sleep for a week."

It was their favorite fantasy. A shared delusion that had kept them moving through the sleet and the ash of the burnt coven. They had grown up together, the witch-girl and the wolf-boy, always circling each other, always assuming there would be time to bridge the gap between *best friend* and *everything else*.

Kael whined again, pressing closer, burying his snout in the crook of her neck. He smelled of pine and infection. He licked the salt and grime from her skin, a rough, tender gesture that made Elara’s chest ache.

"I know," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. She pressed a kiss to the top of his furry head. "I love you too, you stupid dog."

She hadn’t said it when he was human. She hadn’t said it when he was strong. She said it now, to a shivering pup in the dark, because she was terrified it would be the last time she spoke at all.

Outside the hollow, the wind shifted.

It brought the smell of sulfur. And then, the sound.

A horn blast. Low, guttural, and terrifyingly close.