POV: APHRODITE
I smell them before I see them.
Pack scent. Nightfang. Multiple wolves, circling in the distance like predators sizing up prey.
My body goes rigid, every instinct screaming danger. The twins feel it through the bond, their heads snapping up in unison as they catch the same scent.
"How many?" Draco asks quietly, already moving into a defensive position.
I close my eyes and focus on my enhanced senses, sorting through the scents carried on the wind. "Four. No, five. All warriors by the smell of them."
"Scouts," Cassian says, his voice tight. "The pack sent scouts."
Lyra's face goes pale. She just left Nightfang, just chose to follow me into the unknown, and now the pack she abandoned is circling us like wolves around a kill.
"They're not approaching," Bastien observes, scanning the tree line with practiced efficiency. "Just watching. Waiting."
"For what?" Lyra asks, her voice small.
"For us to make a mistake," Lucen responds. "Or for reinforcements."
