Mira woke up sweating and her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst out of her chest. The dream was too real, and it stayed with her like a shadow she couldn't get rid of. She lay still for a moment, trying to calm her breathing, but the images kept coming to her mind: blood soaking the ground, thick smoke choking the air, and the desperate sound of screams cutting through the night.
She had been running, her legs small and uneven, pounding the ground as fire climbed the trees behind her. Wolves fell around her—some mid-shift, others crushed beneath falling stones. And there, at the edge of the burning clearing, stood her grandmother. Her silver hair was loose, her eyes blazing with a fierce fire that seemed to burn brighter than the flames. “Run, Mira!” she had shouted.
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