The rope bridge swayed wildly, each plank creaking as the pair inched across. Mist from the roaring river below clung to their skin, icy against their flushed cheeks. Halfway over, Elara gripped the guide rope tighter.

“Do you see that?” she whispered.

On the far bank, through the shifting veil of spray, a figure stood perfectly still. Cloaked in shadow despite the fading daylight, it seemed neither in a hurry to greet them nor inclined to leave. The hood concealed its face, but something about the stillness—the way it seemed to breathe with the river—made Elara’s heart pound harder than the crossing itself.

By the time their boots met solid ground, the figure had not moved.