Zane wakes knowing something is wrong.
Not urgently wrong.
Not dangerously wrong.
Worse.
Comfortably wrong.
⸻
The sanctum is quiet in a way it never has been before. Not peaceful. Not sacred.
Muted.
The heir sleeps in their cradle, chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. No restless fingers. No searching breath.
Zane steps closer.
Too close.
The bond does not answer.
His heart stutters.
⸻
Jason enters moments later, already pale.
“You feel it too,” Zane says.
Jason nods.
“The feedback loop has dampened further overnight.”
Zane’s jaw tightens.
“They didn’t pull away.”
Jason swallows.
“They were… cushioned.”
⸻
Across Blood Moon, the wolves move through their duties with unnerving ease.
No one strains.
No one hesitates.
No one checks in instinctively on the sanct
