The forest held its breath. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, brushing through the trees in hesitant gusts, as if it too awaited the next move in a game it had no right to witness. Selara's silver veins burned faintly beneath her skin, a low hum of energy echoing through her bones. The wolf that Kaelen had sent yesterday lingered in her memory not fully corrupted, not fully tamed a ghost of what was coming. Its presence had been a warning, a test, and now she could feel the anticipation coiling through the land itself, carrying the unmistakable scent of Kaelen's manipulation.
Fenryk's pack had grown restless, clustering near the edge of the clearing, their golden and silver eyes reflecting the dim, filtered light. Draven stood at her side, his gaze scanning the shadows with a patience that both unnerved and anchored her. Every instinct screamed caution, yet there was a thrill in the tension, the kind that Selara had learned to crave.
