The night is wrong.

Not loud. Not quiet. Wrong.

It sits in the trees like a held breath, presses in on the fire until the flames look nervous. Even the insects have gone still. My fingers flex on the hilt before I realize I’m doing it.

A sound cuts through the dark.

Not a howl.

Not a call.

A growl.

Low. Rough. Too close to be anything with fur.

Balin mutters, “That’s no wolf.”

Dwalin shifts. Thorin straightens. Kíli grins like an idiot.

Gandalf tilts his head, listening. “Or it is not an animal at all.”

Another growl answers the first, closer. Then a hiss—long, sharp, territorial.

My shoulders square.

“That,” I say quietly, “is a challenge.”

Thorin’s voice is firm. “Hold.”

I don’t.

The branches above us shudder. Not from wind. From weight.

Something moves across the canopy, fast and deliberate, and then she drops.

Not falling.

Descending.

She hits the earth in a crouch that’s all balance and intent, spear already in hand, body angled toward the fire. Grey skin catches the light. Feathers and bone shift in her hair. Runes score her arms. Her teeth are bared before her boots even settle.

She does not look confused.

She looks ready.

The growl tears out of her, deeper than before, and the hiss that follows is pure ownership.

Ori yelps. Bombur stumbles back. Kíli makes a noise that will get him killed one day.

Gandalf breathes, “Avari.”

Dwalin glances at him. “A what?”

“The Unwilling,” he says softly. “Elves who never went West. Who learned the forest instead.”

Her eyes find me.

Not curious.

Not startled.

Measuring.

Good.

Steel clears leather.

I move.

Her head snaps up, and for a split second something like approval flashes across her face. The hiss cuts off. The growl sharpens.

We meet in the space between.

Spear slams against blade, shock ringing up my arm. She’s fast—faster than she looks—and strong in a way that isn’t trained. It’s wild, instinctive, precise.

I pivot, try to get inside her reach. She shifts with me, shoulder dropping, momentum carrying us together.

We go down.

Hard.

Dirt and leaves and breath knocked loose.

We roll.

Once.

Twice.

I hook an arm, get a knee in, manage to turn it—

And for one perfect, ridiculous moment, I’m on top.

Pinned. Close. Her breath hot against my cheek. The growl vibrating through her chest.

Oh.

That is—

She takes her hide legs presses her feet to my ribs.

I brace.

She launches me...I fly

I hit the ground on my back with a solid, undignified thud, the air punching out of my lungs in a sound I will never live down.

The world tilts. Then stills.

I stare up at the leaves, chest burning, vision swimming.

Somewhere, someone says my name.

I ignore them.

Because I am laughing.

Not because it’s funny.

Because it’s impressive.

Because she just punted me like I was nothing.

I suck in a breath and grin, still on the ground. “Right,” I wheeze. “Yes. That checks out.”

She has already reset.

Low stance. Spear up. Weight forward.

The hiss is shorter now. Sharper. Curious.

I push myself up, slow and careful, hands open. “You fight like you mean it,” I tell her. “I appreciate that.”

Her eyes narrow.

The growl returns, but it isn’t as deep.

Interesting.

Dwalin barks, “Fíli—”

I lift a hand. “I’m alive.”

Her gaze flicks to him.

The hiss is immediate.

Possessive.

I blink.

Oh.

That’s new.

I meet her eyes again, pulse still racing. “We could do that again,” I add, because apparently I’ve lost all sense. “If you wanted.”

She tilts her head.

Just a fraction.

Assessing.

Judging.

I hold her stare.

Because she could kill me.

And I am, without question, deeply intrigued.

Kíli leans in, grinning.

“You know she just punted you, right?”

I don’t look at him. “Mm.”

He snorts. “And you’re smiling.”

I finally glance over. “Shut up.”

He laughs. “Oh, you’re done for.”