“Chap­ter 1: A Hunter’s Gam­ble”. The for­est stretched end­less­ly before her, blan­ket­ed in a thick lay­er of snow that mut­ed every sound except the occa­sion­al snap of frozen branch­es under­foot. Feyre moved care­ful­ly, her breath mist­ing in the icy air as she scanned her sur­round­ings for any sign of move­ment. Win­ter had tight­ened its grip, and food had become a rare com­mod­i­ty, forc­ing her far­ther from home than she would have dared ven­ture in milder sea­sons. Each step she took was dri­ven by des­per­a­tion, not just for her­self but for the starv­ing fam­i­ly wait­ing back at their dilap­i­dat­ed cot­tage.

Nes­tled high in a tree, her sharp eyes traced the bar­ren land­scape below, search­ing for any hint of move­ment among the frost-coat­ed brush. The woods had grown eeri­ly qui­et, the usu­al rustling of small crea­tures absent, as though even they knew of the dan­gers that lurked in the deep­er shad­ows. Sto­ries of faeries prowl­ing beyond the invis­i­ble bor­der sep­a­rat­ing Pry­thi­an from the mor­tal lands echoed in her mind, cau­tion­ing her to remain alert. Though many dis­missed these tales as myths meant to fright­en chil­dren, she knew bet­ter than to under­es­ti­mate the unseen forces that roamed these woods.

Despite the risks, her hunger out­weighed her fear. It had been days since they had eat­en any­thing sub­stan­tial, and she could not return home emp­ty-hand­ed. As the day­light began to wane, she adjust­ed her grip on her bow, prepar­ing to leave, her mus­cles stiff from the cold. Just as she shift­ed her weight to descend, move­ment in the dis­tance caught her attention—a flick­er of life against the white back­drop of the for­est.

A doe.

Her heart pound­ed as she observed the grace­ful crea­ture, its ribs faint­ly vis­i­ble beneath its tawny coat. A kill like this would feed her fam­i­ly for weeks, pro­vid­ing sus­te­nance that had been sore­ly lack­ing. She nocked an arrow, prepar­ing to take her shot when anoth­er fig­ure emerged from the trees, send­ing a shiv­er down her spine.

A wolf.

It was far larg­er than any she had seen before, mov­ing with unnat­ur­al silence through the snow, its coat as thick and pale as the frost-cov­ered ground. Instinct warned her that this was no ordi­nary predator—it was either an unnat­u­ral­ly large beast or some­thing far worse: a faerie in dis­guise. The vil­lagers often spoke of crea­tures that walked among them, hid­ing in plain sight, their true nature only revealed when it was too late. If this was indeed a faerie, she was on the verge of mak­ing a fatal mis­take.

Her fin­gers tight­ened around the arrow shaft, hes­i­ta­tion creep­ing in. If she let the wolf take the doe, her fam­i­ly would go hun­gry, but if she struck down a faerie, the con­se­quences could be dire. She could feel the weight of the moment press­ing down on her, the choice between cau­tion and neces­si­ty bat­tling in her mind.

She exhaled slow­ly, reach­ing for one of the spe­cial arrows in her quiver—iron-tipped and fletched with moun­tain ash, the only defense mor­tals had against the mag­ic of the fae. If the sto­ries held any truth, the mate­ri­als would weak­en or even kill a faerie, though she had nev­er test­ed this the­o­ry her­self. Her hands were steady as she took aim, focus­ing on the wolf’s ribs just as she would with any oth­er prey.

The arrow flew true, pierc­ing the wolf’s side with dead­ly pre­ci­sion. It let out a sound­less cry, its mas­sive frame col­laps­ing into the snow, leav­ing only crim­son stain­ing the white land­scape. For a breath­less moment, Feyre remained still, watch­ing, wait­ing for some­thing unnat­ur­al to happen—for glow­ing eyes to flash open, for the body to twist and shift into some­thing unspeak­able. But noth­ing came.

The for­est remained still.

Despite the silence, unease crept up her spine. Had she tru­ly slain a mere beast, or had she just sealed her fate with a sin­gle arrow? Either way, the doe was hers now, and she would not waste the oppor­tu­ni­ty. She wast­ed no time in prepar­ing the car­cass­es, cut­ting swift­ly, her hands numbed by the cold but her mind sharp with focus.

With the weight of the deer slung over her shoul­ders, she cast one last glance at the fall­en wolf before trudg­ing home­ward. The unease in her chest did not fade, lin­ger­ing like a whis­per of warn­ing in the frigid air.