The forest at the border was different.
Matt noticed it immediately—the way the air changed, the way the light filtered through the canopy, the way the silence seemed thicker, more deliberate. This was not the tame woodland of the castle's hinterland. This was old growth. Ancient. The kind of forest that had been standing long before humans learned to walk upright.
Yvonne stood beside him at the edge of a clearing, her hood pulled low, her hand resting on the knife at her belt. Her eyes scanned the treeline, searching for movement, for danger, for the yellow gleam of watching wolves.
"We're close," she said. "Another mile, maybe less. I can feel it."
"Feel what?"
"The territory line. It's like... a pressure. A warning." She glanced at him. "You don't feel it?"
