The sun was barely up, the grass still damp with morning dew when we assembled at the training circle behind the compound. I was only eight, the youngest in the group by far. My wings were still small and awkward, feathers constantly getting in my way, and the practice dagger felt heavy in my hand, too big for someone my size.

  Thalos stood at the center of the ring, arms crossed and eyes sweeping over us like a storm cloud waiting to break.

  “Blades today,” he announced. “You’re not going to win every battle with your powers. Sometimes, it’ll come down to steel and instinct.”

  To my right, Ella spun her daggers with effortless confidence, her golden hair tied back, eyes sharp with excitement. Across from us, Xandor—who was eleven—stood calm and focused, his posture already near perfect. He always looked out for me, especially when the others pushed too hard. He was my safe place, my closest friend in a world full of uncertainty. Peter was analyzing every movement before making it, and Damian—well, Damian was smiling too much for someone about to get hit.

  “Zoe,” Thalos called, and I jumped.

  “Yeah?”

  “Wings in. Eyes up. Dagger ready.”

  I did as he said, swallowing my nerves. “Yes, sir.”

  He walked past me and nodded to Xandor. “Pair up.”

  Soon the ring filled with the sounds of clashing metal and laughter. Ella moved like light itself—fast, dazzling, unpredictable. Peter focused on precision and economy, every motion calculated. Damian weaved and danced, his twin blades almost a blur, but his instincts were sharp, sensing feints and counters without thought.

  I felt awkward at first, my feet unsteady and my wings twitching with every movement. But Xandor never rushed me. He stayed patient, stepping slower, gentler.

  “You’re thinking too much,” he said with a soft grin, brushing a bit of hair from my face like a big brother would. “Let your wings move you. You’re faster than you know.”

  He stayed close, guiding my steps with quiet encouragement, and eventually, something clicked. I ducked under his blade, circled with a flap of my wings, and tapped my dagger to his shoulder.

  “Nice,” he muttered, surprised, and then he smiled—really smiled, proud of me.

  I beamed up at him, heart fluttering. In that moment, I felt seen. And safe.

  From across the circle, Thalos’s voice rang out. “Every one of you has a gift. But discipline is what keeps you alive.”

  Even back then, we listened when Thalos spoke.

  We knew one day we’d need every lesson.

  The car rumbled beneath us as Helena and I sped down the highway, Oregon bound. A map lay folded between us, marked with circles and arrows from our late-night planning. The morning light streamed through the windshield, warm but not comforting. It felt too bright, too calm for the fear quietly curling in my chest.

  We hadn’t even made it an hour out of town before we felt it.

  The sky darkened just slightly—too quickly, too unnaturally. A chill crept in through the cracks of the windows. Helena glanced at me, fingers tightening around the wheel.

  “Do you feel that?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah. We’re not alone.”

  Just ahead, something skittered across the road. Too fast to be a deer, too hunched to be human. Helena hit the brakes. The tires screeched, and before I could even reach for my daggers, it was on us.

  A blur of claws and teeth slammed into the windshield, cracking the glass. I screamed, wings flaring instinctively as I threw open the door and leapt into the air. The rush of wind steadied me, cleared my panic.

  Below, Helena was already moving. She dove from the car, vines erupting from the roadside and wrapping around the creature’s legs. It shrieked—high and awful—and tore through the bindings with a jerk of its limbs.

  I circled above, gripping a dagger in each hand. I locked eyes with Helena for half a second, then dove. I aimed for the creature’s shoulder, driving a dagger deep before peeling away.

  It turned, screeching again, but I was already back in the sky.

  “We have to be quick,” Helena shouted. “There’s more coming—I can feel them.”

  Sure enough, dark shapes were beginning to emerge from the treeline.

  I gritted my teeth and dove again.

  Helena slammed her palm to the ground, and thorned roots burst from the soil, sweeping across the road to trip the oncoming monsters. One fell hard, tumbling end over end before slamming into the ditch.

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  Another leapt toward her. I screamed from above and hurled one of my daggers. It sank deep into the creature’s neck. It stumbled, and Helena wasted no time—vines lashed out, dragging it to the pavement.

  “Behind you!” I called.

  Helena spun, her hand rising just in time to send a wave of ivy slamming into another attacker’s face. I flew lower, retrieving my second dagger mid-swoop, and slashed at a second beast trying to claw its way onto the hood of our car.

  But they just kept coming. Three. Four. Six of them now.

  “We have to run!” Helena called. “We can’t hold this spot!”

  I nodded and swept low. “Grab the bags. I’ll cover you!”

  She sprinted for the car, vines snapping defensively around her as she yanked open the back door and pulled our gear free. I darted between the creatures, slicing and diving, forcing them back just long enough.

  Helena threw the pack over her shoulder and ran toward the treeline.

  “Go!” she shouted. “Get above the trees—I’ll meet you on the other side!”

  I shot upward, breaking through the canopy. Below, the forest was alive with motion. But so was the sky. And I had air on my side.

  Together, we ran and flew for our lives, Oregon still hundreds of miles away—but now closer than ever.

  The forest thinned as we reached a narrow service road. Helena burst through the underbrush a few minutes after I landed, her chest heaving with exertion, scratches lining her arms. I rushed to her side, wings folding tight against my back.

  “We need to keep moving,” she said between breaths. “They were coordinated. That wasn’t just a random attack.”

  “I know,” I said, my grip tightening around my daggers. “Something’s tracking us.”

  Helena adjusted the pack on her shoulders and gave a grim nod. “Let’s stay off main roads from now on. We’ll find cover through the woods and move west that way. It’ll be slower, but safer.”

  We pushed forward, not speaking much. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was focused. Every snap of a twig, every gust of wind set us on edge. Helena parted thick patches of undergrowth with careful gestures, coaxing the dense Wisconsin forest to open enough for us to move more quickly. It was still slow going, but less like fighting the trees at every step. I kept to the branches when I could, gliding low and scouting ahead, the chill air brushing past my feathers while Helena moved quietly through the brush below.

  Hours passed. The sun had climbed high before we finally stopped to rest near a shallow stream. Helena sat against a mossy log, rubbing her temples. I stood nearby, eyes scanning the woods.

  We still had hundreds of miles to go, and walking the rest of the way wasn’t an option. The loss of our car had slowed us down more than we could afford. I could fly ahead, sure, but not for long stretches without resting—and I wasn’t about to leave Helena behind.

  “We need a ride,” I muttered, more to myself than to Helena.

  She cracked one eye open. “And where exactly are we going to find a ride in the middle of the forest?”

  I scanned the stream and surrounding trees, chewing my lip. “There’s gotta be a road nearby. A highway, maybe a ranger station. Something.”

  Helena sat up slowly, brushing twigs from her lap. “Let’s head keep heading west, can you fly above the trees an look for a town. We’ll hope we don’t run into any more monsters before we get to another town.”

  I nodded, taking off, straight up. The road to Oregon was still long, but we’d find a way. We had to.

  There it was—a town, nestled in a shallow valley a couple miles west. I spotted rooftops, a rusted water tower, and a faded gas station sign blinking in the afternoon light. Relief fluttered in my chest for a heartbeat, but it evaporated just as quickly.

  The air was thick with the scent of wet leaves, pine, and distant smoke—burning wood, or something worse. A faint, low growl rode the wind, too distant to pinpoint but unmistakably real. I could hear snapping branches and the crunch of underbrush being torn apart, far too rhythmic for any natural predator.

  Then I saw them.

  Dark shapes weaving through the trees along the forest’s edge, faster and more deliberate than before. Their movements were practiced now, almost coordinated. There were more of them—too many. They’d picked up our trail again. They could smell us. Smell me.

  Godly blood might as well be a beacon.

  My pulse spiked.

  I dove back toward the forest floor, weaving through the trees until I saw Helena up ahead. “They’re behind us again,” I said as I landed hard beside her. “They’re moving fast. We won’t outrun them on foot.”

  She tensed. “How far to the town?”

  “Two miles. Maybe a little more.”

  Her eyes met mine, and I already knew she wouldn’t like what I was about to say.

  “I can carry you,” I told her. “It’ll drain me, but I think I can make it.”

  Helena didn’t argue. Not this time. She just nodded and grabbed the pack. “Let’s go.”

  I crouched, bracing myself, and Helena climbed onto my back. Her arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, and I spread my wings wide.

  The moment I lifted off the ground, the strain hit me. She wasn’t heavy, but carrying another person while flying took more strength than I had wanted to use. My muscles screamed with each beat of my wings. The wind tore at my hair, stung my eyes, but I forced myself higher.

  Below us, I could hear them. Snarls. Snapping branches. The rhythmic pounding of clawed feet closing in.

  They were gaining ground.

  I pushed harder, wings burning as I shot forward, the town drawing closer with every agonizing second. Helena remained silent, holding on, trusting me.

  My breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat clung to my skin, and every heartbeat felt like thunder in my chest. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. The only thing that mattered was getting us out of the trees, into the open.

  Finally, rooftops rose into view, and the air shifted. Human sounds—cars, voices, music from a distant radio—reached my ears. We were close enough now. Close enough to blend in.

  As soon as we crossed the treeline into the outskirts of town, I dove toward an alley and landed hard, my knees buckling. I collapsed forward, catching myself on trembling hands.

  Helena slid off my back and knelt beside me. “You did it,” she whispered. “We’re here.”

  The scent of humanity filled the air—gasoline, cooking food, laundry detergent. We’d be harder to trace now. The monsters wouldn’t be able to follow us easily in a place like this.

  We were safe. For now.

  I tucked my wings tightly against my back and dug through the pack Helena had carried the whole way. Pulling out a wrinkled jacket, I slipped it over my shoulders to hide the golden feathers. My body still trembled from exertion, but I forced myself upright. We couldn’t afford to linger.

  “We need transportation,” I said quietly.

  Helena nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. “Let’s find a bus or something—anything that’ll take us west.”

  We wandered through the town, sticking to crowded sidewalks to mask our scent. It wasn’t long before we spotted a small, run-down bus station near a gas station and convenience store.

  Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and Helena approached the counter with a worn smile. After a short conversation and a few crumpled bills from her emergency stash, she returned with two tickets in hand.

  “Denver,” she said.

  I nodded. “That’ll get us close enough.”

  Once we boarded the bus, we sank into our seats in the back row. The engine rumbled beneath us as it pulled away from the curb. Helena leaned her head against the window. I turned toward her and caught her eye. Despite everything—the fear, the pain—she smiled.

  I smiled back.

  It was terrifying to be hunted by monsters.

  But this—this was what we were trained for.

  And for the first time in years, it felt like we were finally living the life we were meant to.