The gate does not creak.
It does not groan or protest or announce itself as it opens.
That is the problem.
⸻
Zane notices it at dusk, when the light goes thin and gold and the valley begins to hold its breath the way it always does before night work begins.
The outer gate of Blood Moon is open.
Not wide.
Not welcoming.
Just… open.
A deliberate choice.
He stands on the inner rise with the heir pressed against his chest, the child’s small fingers wrapped in the fabric at his collar, warm and trusting. The bond hums quietly, not alarmed, not pulled outward. Just aware.
Jason approaches fast, boots crunching on gravel.
“Tell me that’s intentional,” Jason says.
Zane doesn’t take his eyes off the gate.
“It is,” he replies.
Jason stops short. “Zane—”
“I know,” Zane says softly. “T
