Hope's POV.
The air feels heavy with magic.
It presses in on my skin, prickling along the back of my neck like static before a storm. My breath catches, every sense on high alert. I take a step back instinctively.
Then I see them.
They emerge from the shadows of the treeline like ghosts — no sound, no scent, nothing to betray their approach. Just sudden presence.
A pack of wolves — not like the ones around me, not like the hunters. Something else entirely.
Their fur gleams white-silver in the sunlight, each step as fluid and silent as a drifting mist. They shimmer, almost translucent at the edges, as if they are made of smoke and starlight and the oldest parts of the world. Moonlight given form.
They don’t walk. They glide.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Dreamlike. Unreal. Beauti
