It was the third night since the fight at the mountain pass. The sea air was colder now, crueler. Waves crashed against the rocks with angry force. The sky was still dark, though a faint glow had started to rise in the east. Ivan stood silently near the edge of the cliff, where the path met the sea. He had not moved in hours. His boots were buried in snow. The hood of his coat was pushed back, letting the wind bite his ears and sting his face. He didn't care.
The cold clung to him like a second skin. His fingers had long since gone numb inside his gloves, but he didn't move them. Every breath he took hurt his lungs. The salt in the air burned his throat. Still, he didn't step back. Something inside him felt frozen, but it wasn't just his body. It was something deeper.
