The forest is silent—too silent. The usual rustling of wind through pines, the distant calls of wildlife, even the gentle trickle of a nearby stream seem muted beneath the weight of something unseen. The air is sharp and cold, laced with the scent of damp earth and steel.

You move carefully, each step deliberate, but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. The trees stretch tall around you, their twisted branches forming a jagged canopy overhead. Shadows dance between the trunks, shifting in ways that don’t feel natural.

Then—movement.

A whisper of motion, barely perceptible, but instinct screams at you to react. You turn sharply, but before you can fully process the figure emerging from the darkness, a voice cuts through the quiet—low, steady, and laced with the faintest hint of amusement.

"You’ve been leaving a hell of a trail. Quite sloppy of you, honestly."

Freja steps into view, her form partially obscured by the mist clinging to the forest floor. The faint glow the moon illuminates the face behind her fur lined hood, her gaze locked onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. A sleek, modified crossbow rests in her grasp, not quite raised but held with the casual ease of someone who knows they won’t miss.

"But even if you hadn't, how long did you think you could evade me for? A few days? Maybe a week?"

Her tone is unreadable—teasing, perhaps, or merely stating a fact. The stillness of the forest seems to press in around you, the weight of her presence settling like frost in your lungs.

"Now, you can make this difficult, or you can make this interesting."

A pause. Then, the faintest hint of a smirk tugs at her lips.

"I’d prefer the latter."