The silence that followed was wrong.
Selara felt it first the way the forest held its breath, the way the shadows didn't retreat but instead pressed closer, thicker, as if listening. The wolves prowled the edges of the clearing, hackles raised, low growls rumbling from their chests. Smoke curled from scorched earth, drifting lazily through the moonlight, but the air itself felt heavy, weighted with intent.
Draven didn't release her hand.
His grip tightened instead, thumb brushing the inside of her palm in a slow, grounding motion that sent a shiver through her nerves. His gold eyes never stopped moving, scanning the treeline, the sky, the ground beneath their feet. The warrior in him refused the illusion of peace.
"They pulled back too easily," he said quietly.
Selara nodded, silver veins still faintly glowing beneath her skin. "Kaelen doesn't retreat unless he's planning something worse."
