Klaus’s POV
The moon was high, yet its light seemed muted beneath Riverdale’s ancient canopy. The darkness here wasn’t empty—it breathed. Every shadow had shape, and every tree looked like it might lean in closer if I stared too long.
The air was different in this place, thicker. Damp moss and rotting leaves clung to my senses, the scent heavy with earth and age. Beneath it was something sharper—metallic, faint yet unmistakable. Blood. Old traps. Death.
My paws sank slightly into the soft ground, each step calculated to avoid snapping a twig or disturbing the loose stones hidden under the ferns. My ears twitched toward every rustle, cataloging what was natural and what didn’t belong. The further we pushed into Riverdale’s perimeter, the quieter the forest became. The cicadas faded first
