The forest exhaled a tense, expectant silence, the air thick with the residue of Nightborne energy and the lingering scent of smoke. Selara's silver veins shimmered beneath her skin, throbbing with the pulse of power that had become almost sentient, alive with awareness of every movement, every intention around her. She crouched low on a fallen tree trunk, senses stretching, attuned to the rhythm of the wolves and the subtle vibrations in the soil. Draven's presence at her side was an anchor she hadn't realized she needed his gold eyes scanning the darkness, alert, calculating, but softening whenever they met hers.
"This calm… it's a trap," he murmured, voice low, almost intimate, sending a shiver along her spine.
