The loss does not ask.
It arrives.
⸻
There is no warning ripple in the lattice.
No narrowing.
No whisper of names.
Jason realizes something is wrong only when the bond goes still.
Not silent.
Absent.
His breath catches. His hands hover over the arrays, searching for resistance that should be there and isn’t.
“Zane,” he says slowly. “Don’t move.”
Zane is already on his feet, the heir tucked close against his chest, instincts screaming.
“What,” he demands.
Jason swallows hard.
“I can’t feel the outer weave.”
⸻
The world has not collapsed.
That’s the horror of it.
Birds still call.
Wind still moves the leaves.
The wolves still stand where they are.
But the bond no longer reaches beyond the inner circle.
Not cut.
Severed.
⸻
A scream rises from the edge of the territory
