The night wind swept over the mountain path, snapping the corners of their robes. Chen Wuya walked ahead, his steps far steadier than they had been last night. His left hand remained pressed to his sword hilt, his knuckles faintly whitening with force. He did not look back again, but he could feel Bai Zhi just one step behind him, her breathing light and even, like a leaf gliding close to the ground.
The entrance to Mist Valley felt even heavier than it had the night before. Gray-white fog hung low, nearly plastered to the ground as it spilled outward. The moss on the stone walls around the cave mouth gleamed wetly, as if something had just licked it. Chen Wuya crouched and ran his fingers over the ground—last night's footprints had been covered by fresh tracks, crooked and crisscrossing, some deep and some shallow, as though someone had dragged something heavy back and forth.
"Something's wrong," Bai Zhi said quietly behind him. "These marks weren't made by human feet."
Chen Wuya nodded. He bent closer to one of the deeper indentations, but the instant his fingertips brushed its edge, he jerked his hand back. It was not earth compressed beneath a footstep, but a mark gouged out by something sharp, curved like a claw.
He drew a firestarter from his robes and blew gently. A weak flame sprang to life. Using its glow, he swept his gaze across the cave wall, where several carvings came into view: twisted lines wound into circles, with a symbol shaped like a wolf head embedded in the center. He stared at it for a moment, pressed his tongue to his palate, then silently wet his forefinger with saliva and lightly rubbed one corner of the rune.
A buzz rang through his head, and