The night hung heavy over the Northern Veil, a suffocating canopy of stars hidden beneath rolling clouds. The forest smelled of damp earth and smoldering ash, remnants of the last confrontation with Kaelen lingering like a warning. Every step Selara took was cautious, deliberate her claws barely whispering against the scorched ground, silver veins pulsing beneath her skin like molten rivers. The Nightborne power inside her thrummed insistently, a heartbeat of fire and instinct, demanding attention, acknowledgment, and mastery.
Draven walked beside her, silent but present, a shadow of golden power that moved with predatory grace. His eyes, sharp and luminous, scanned the forest in tandem with hers, attuned to every movement, every flicker of potential threat. The air between them carried a weight of unspoken words, the slow burn of desire threading every glance, every brush of arm against arm, a magnetism neither dared fully name but both felt down to the marrow.
