SKYE'S POV
The wet grass of the valley basin gave way to the ancient, sacred stone of the amphitheater, and with every step, the invisible collar around my neck tightened.
The suppression wards didn't just mute the magic; they felt like physical hands pressing down on my collarbones, forcing my chin down. My lungs struggled to expand against the heavy, static-thick air, and the faint amber heat that had nested behind my ribs for three days went utterly dark. I was a wolf stripped of her claws, a vessel emptied of its water.
Beside me, Eryx walked with a rigid, unnatural stiffness. The shadow of his wolf, usually a massive, protective presence that seemed to swell the space around him, had retreated. Under the weight of the Old Pact, he was just a man in silver-and-steel armor. He looked
