The road ended at the tree line.
Mason killed the engine. The van sat at the edge of a gravel track that had been swallowed by snow and time. Beyond, the forest rose in layers—pines and bare oaks, their branches heavy with frost. The sky was pale, the sun too low to warm anything.
Cora pulled her collar higher. "You said north. You didn't say the North Pole."
"Malachar's camp was the southern edge of his territory." Lucian stepped out of the van. His boots sank into the snow. "His supply lines run deeper. We need to see how far."
Derek followed, his staff leaving a trail behind him. His ghosts drifted close, their cold presence blending with the winter air. Dr. Blackwood materialized beside him, scanning the trees.
"This region has old wounds," the ghost said. "Spiritual residue. Something died here. Many things."
Sera climbed out last, her crossbow slung across her back. She closed her eyes, stretched her life sense into the forest.
