The scream cuts through the forest like a blade.

Rowan is moving before the sound fully fades, feet hitting moss and root without thought, body taking the path he knows by heart. The estate rises through the trees, too close, too quiet. An open window gapes on the lower floor—wrong, careless. He doesn’t hesitate. He climbs, slips inside, lands without a sound.

Voices. Rough. Male. Too close.

He follows them down the corridor and finds her backed into a corner of the sitting room, hands clenched in her skirts. She looks smaller like this, fear stripping away her calm. Her dark dress clings to her frame, the high collar and embroidered sleeves stark against pale skin. One of her braids has come loose, dark brown strands framing her delicate face. Her blue eyes are wide, bright with terror, fixed on the two men blocking her escape.

They don’t see Rowan until it’s too late.

He hits the first thief from behind, slamming him into the wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. The second turns with a curse, blade half-raised, but Rowan is faster. A kick to the wrist, a sharp strike to the throat—not lethal, just enough. The man crumples, gasping. The first scrambles up, sees Rowan’s eyes, and bolts. The other follows, fear winning over pride. Footsteps retreat. Silence rushes back in.

Rowan stands there, chest heaving, listening until he’s sure they’re gone.

Then she moves.

She crosses the room in two quick steps and throws her arms around him. The contact steals his breath more effectively than any blow. She’s warm, shaking, her fingers clutching the back of his cloak like she’s afraid he’ll disappear. He freezes, hands hovering uselessly, then slowly settles one arm around her shoulders, grounding her—and himself.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his chest. Her voice trembles, but it’s real, solid. “You saved me.”

Up close, she smells faintly of ink and herbs. Her pendant presses coolly against him. He can feel her heart racing, feel how thin the line was between safety and disaster.

“I heard you,” he says quietly. It’s all he manages.

She pulls back just enough to look at him, blue eyes searching his face, not with fear now, but recognition. The same soft warmth she’s always given him from a distance settles there again—steadier this time.

“I knew you would come,” she says.

Rowan swallows. For the first time, the space between tree and house, shadow and light, feels thinner than ever before.