The sun had just dipped beyond the western ridges when Aria slipped from the Stormborn gates, traveling alone yet again. Twilight painted the sky in muted purples and dusky blues, a liminal hour where shadows grew bold. In hushed corners of the fortress, guards grumbled about her constant comings and goings, but none dared halt her.
With her cloak drawn tight, she set a brisk pace through the pine forests, guided by rumors that circulated among the bolder scouts. Word claimed there was a rogue hideout nestled deep in the ravines beyond the old hunting trails, a haven for those who refused to bow to any pack’s rule.
If even half the whispers were true, these rogues traded in contraband spells and half-lost curses, secrets gleaned from Layla’s father’s once-forbidden archives. Aria’s heart
