A draugr patrols a barrow mouth, pacing the same circle in the snow, a bone charm swinging from its neck. Ylva drops from a dead spruce and cuts the rune-etched talisman. For one lurching instant the world tilts — and then the dead man blinks and whispers a single word: 'Cold.' Somewhere in the threads that bind the walking dead, Ylva has found a knot she can untie. But the one who tied it is watching.
