The carriage rocked as the horses stamped and tossed their heads, the tension snapping tight for a single breathless moment. She felt the desperate surge of their strength through the frame, the violent strain against leather and wood. Whatever held them did not give. 

She hesitated, weighing the risk of looking through the window. The carriage door suddenly burst open with a jarring slam. Mr. Bell stood in the doorway, clutching a bloodied shoulder, his face pale and tight with a mix of anger and fear. He leaned inside, breath ragged, voice unsteady but urgent, even as he continued to peer behind him for danger.

“My ladies, we must get you to safety! Those men from Sodbury have ambushed us, and they mean you harm. Hurry! Into the forest, we need to take cover.”

Every word landed heavily, the warning ringing long after he finished speaking.

Kendra sat frozen and wide-eyed, her hands trembling in her lap. Dia didn’t hesitate. She gripped the groom’s outstretched hand, sprang down, but backed up immediately with a gasp as a man lay face down, hand outstretched like he had tried to open the door, blood staining his back where a knife had entered.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the frightened young woman.

“Come, my lady!” she urged, her voice taut with urgency, but the only response was Kendra’s chest rising too fast as she stared at the corpse.

Mr. Bell mumbled an apology as he reached in, lifting his mistress over his good shoulder despite a sharp wince.

His injuries betrayed him when he moved forward. As he stumbled, Dia snatched her hand, hauling her upright. Their protector pointed toward the trees.

“Run as quick as you can. I’m right behind you. Don’t stop until you can find somewhere to hide. Only come out if you hear my voice!”

With a brief nod, they sprinted toward the woods, skirts snagging on brambles as they passed the first line of trees, rain pelting their bonnets. 

Dia threw a glance over her shoulder and spotted a thick log lying across the road, pinning the barouche in place. The horses pawed and snorted, straining against the reins, but they couldn’t move forward.

Next to the log, Mr. Frey lay sprawled in the mud. One arm was wedged against the heavy beam, his hands smeared with wet earth, trying and failing to shift it. Beside him was an unmoving figure.

A burly attacker jumped on him and straddled his chest, fist raised to strike until he suddenly jerked his head up and locked eyes with her.

Her breath seized. It was him. The same man who had asked for her name. Even at a distance, the scar on his brow was unmistakable.

A whip cracked through the air, drawing her gaze toward the front of the vehicle. Through the sheets of rain, she caught a flicker of movement as Mr. Trottenham staggered, then dropped out of sight at the left front wheel. She screamed.

The horses reared and neighed as the barouche lurched forward, somehow clearing the log and vanishing down the road without them, the heavy rain already smoothing away all traces of its passage.

Her stomach twisted. 

Two figures bent over the fallen coachman, and she immediately looked away, unable to witness what might happen. She gasped in fear. Why in the world was this happening?

Dia turned back just as Mr. Frey’s attacker lunged toward her, but Mr. Bell threw all his weight into the man, buying them precious seconds.

“Go!” he shouted without looking at them. “Don’t stop!”

Terror surged through Dia, but she forced her legs to move, gripping Kendra’s hand and dragging her into the shelter of the trees.

Both ladies were fit by society’s standards, accustomed to brisk walks and early morning rides, but this was no graceful gallop or curated promenade. This was flight. Panic. A mad sprint through brambles and rising mud with death on their heels.

Kendra lagged behind, her breath coming in ragged sobs. Her slippers, soaked through and heavy with muck, slipped on the uneven ground. She clutched at her pelisse, chest heaving, each step more sluggish than the last.

“Please—” she gasped, stumbling again. “I can’t. I can’t breathe!”

Dia stopped only long enough to grab Kendra’s arm and yank her upright with a strength born of fear. “You can,” she said, voice sharp with urgency. “You must. Just a short distance more. We need to find somewhere to hide. Come on!”

Kendra whimpered but obeyed, her curls plastered to her cheeks, her face streaked with rain and panic.

The weather lashed down in punishing sheets, each drop a needle against Dia’s skin. Her cloak clung to her, heavy and unyielding, dragging at her shoulders. The forest closed in around them, branches reaching out and clawing at them, trunks blocking their passage.

Each step was a battle. The ground squelched beneath her feet, mud clinging with greedy weight. Slick roots jutted from the earth, and more than once, Dia stumbled, catching herself before she fell. 

The air reeked of damp bark and fear. She held back a scream when she saw two eyes looking back at her, only to realize it was a hawk sheltering in a hollow of the tree.

Thunder cracked overhead, not distant anymore but directly above. It rolled through the trees like a growl, shaking the ground beneath her boots and echoing in her ribs. It matched the frantic rhythm of her pulse, fast and brutal.

Dia couldn’t remember the last full breath she’d taken. Her lungs strained, her legs burned, but she pushed forward, every step an act of defiance. 

The cold had sunk into her bones, not just from the rain, but from terror. It numbed her fingers and curled down her spine like frost.

Kendra stumbled as her head struck a low-hanging branch, the impact sharp enough to break skin. For half a second, Dia hauled her behind a great tree trunk, wide as a doorframe, its roots slick and swollen from decades of growth.

“Catch your breath,” she commanded, pressing Kendra gently against the bark as she looked back to see if they were being pursued.

The space was empty. For now.

“I can’t,” Kendra whimpered, unaware of the blood spilling down her temple. “I can’t go anymore.”

“Yes, you can. Just count to ten with me. One… two…”

They failed to make it to seven.

Somewhere behind them, a branch snapped. They froze, listening. Another crack followed, closer this time.