Aurelia's POV
The ward held through the night.
That should have been a comfort.
Instead, it felt like the pause before something heavy fell.
No alarms sounded. No scouts cried out. The forest stayed unnaturally quiet, as if it were holding its breath along with the rest of us. Even the insects seemed reluctant to move. I sat awake beside the dying embers of the courtyard fire, my cloak pulled tight around my shoulders, listening to the slow rhythm of Lucien's breathing nearby.
He hadn't left my side since the seal closed.
"You should rest," he murmured without opening his eyes.
"I don't think I can," I replied.
He didn't argue. He rarely did when it came to this kind of thing. Instead, he shifted closer, a solid, steady presence at my back. It helped—just enough.
Across the courtyard, Talon stood with two scouts, speaking in low voices. Raffyn paced along the perimeter, firelight flickering faintly over his hands whenever he grew too still. Silvara remained apart from all of us, her attention fixed on the dark line of trees beyond the eastern ridge.
She was the first to feel it.
Her head snapped up sharply. "There."
My stomach clenched. "What is it?"
"Not an army," she said. "Worse."
The air changed.
It wasn't the crushing pressure Jarek used when he wanted to be felt. This was quieter. Slower. Like fingers brushing against the edge of my awareness, testing.
Talon turned toward me. "Aurelia."
I was already on my feet.
"I feel him," I said. "He's not pushing."
Raffyn cursed under his breath. "That's never good."
A scream cut through the stillness.
It came from the eastern quarter of the pack—high, sharp, unmistakably real.
Lucien was moving before the echo faded. "That's inside the perimeter."
We ran.
Torches flared to life as wolves poured out of their homes, fear snapping into action. The smell of smoke hit me first—not fire magic, but burning wood. One of the storage houses near the eastern wall was already half-collapsed, flames licking at its roof.
And in the center of it—
A body.
A young warrior lay sprawled across the dirt, chest unmoving, eyes wide and empty. Dark marks scorched his skin, not from fire, but something colder, deeper.
Nightfall magic.
"He's dead," someone whispered.
Silvara stopped short, her face grim. "No. This was a message."
My heart pounded. "From Jarek."
Lucien's wings twitched, barely restrained. "He crossed the ward."
"No," Talon said quietly, kneeling to examine the ground. "He didn't have to."
He pointed to the dirt just beyond the body. The earth there was disturbed—pressed inward, as if something had reached through rather than stepped across.
A projection.
Or a conduit.
"He found a weak point," Talon continued. "Not in the ward. In us."
The realization settled like ice in my chest.
"He didn't attack the pack," I said slowly. "He attacked our confidence."
Silvara met my gaze. "And your restraint."
The crowd gathered tighter now, whispers threading through fear and grief. Someone sobbed. Someone else shouted Jarek's name like a curse.
Raffyn straightened, fire flaring openly. "That's it. We strike back."
"No," I said.
The word came out sharper than I intended.
Raffyn looked at me, surprised.
"This is what he wants," I continued. "A reaction. A mistake."
Lucien studied the body again, jaw tight. "Then what does he want?"
I closed my eyes briefly.
When I opened them, the magic stirred—not surging, not lashing out. Just listening.
"He wants me to move," I said. "To leave the pack. To come closer."
Silence rippled outward.
Talon rose slowly. "He's trying to isolate you."
"Yes," Silvara agreed. "And he's willing to bleed you slowly to do it."
A low growl spread through the gathered wolves.
Elder Bram pushed forward, face pale but resolute. "We can't let this continue."
"I know," I said. "Which is why we don't answer him tonight."
Bram hesitated. "And if he strikes again?"
I met his gaze steadily. "Then we answer on our terms."
Lucien's hand found mine, firm and grounding. Raffyn's fire dimmed, though the tension in his stance remained. Talon nodded once, already thinking three moves ahead.
Silvara watched me closely. "You understand what that means."
"Yes," I said quietly. "It means this isn't just about holding ground anymore."
Somewhere beyond the trees, something shifted.
I felt it—Jarek's attention, sharpened, amused.
He had drawn first blood.
But he hadn't won.
Not yet.