The wind howled through the trees, carrying the bite of the North with it. Snow crunched under heavy boots as Cregan strode forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Beside him walked a younger man, his dark curls dusted with frost, his frame lean but sure-footed on the icy ground.

“You were late,” Cregan murmured, his voice low but firm, eyes fixed ahead. “I don’t like waiting.”