The Northern Veil held its breath under the weight of predawn mist, the air heavy with the scent of pine, smoke, and lingering magic. Selara crouched on a jagged rock overlooking the clearing, silver veins tracing along her arms and neck, pulsing faintly with restrained Nightborne energy. Her senses were taut, every rustle of leaves and distant snap of twigs vibrating through her like a warning bell. She had felt it in the pit of her stomach for hours a shift, a disturbance in the weave of the forest's magic that whispered of Kaelen's next move.
Draven emerged silently behind her, his presence a solid, warm contrast to the cold fog. Gold eyes scanning, muscles coiled like a predator's, he crouched beside her, careful not to touch but close enough that the energy between them hummed electric. "They've moved," he said softly, voice low but firm. "Shadows are stirring. The corrupted wolves are responding faster than I expected. He's prepared this well."
