The wind tore across the walls of Moonrise, shrieking like something wounded. Banners snapped in the dark, their edges frayed and soaked. The scent in the air had shifted—metallic, sharp, full of the storm that hadn’t come yet but would. Everyone felt it.
The pack had only just begun to exhale. Old Moonrise wolves and new rogues still moved carefully around each other, building something that felt like peace. After the bonfire, after the vows, there had been laughter. Sleep. Hope.
But even in that calm, Xander didn’t rest. He paced long after the fire burned low. Aria heard his voice late into the night, giving orders, checking posts. Always on edge. Always ready.
She tried to sleep beside their daughter. The soft rhythm of tiny breaths comforted her, even as her own pulse stayed fast.
