From the ruined ceremonial hall, a new shape began to form.
Not stone this time—
Ash.
Smoke.
Intent.
No face. No body. Just a mass of shadow coalescing into suggestion.
But somehow, it looked at her.
“They know,” Jane said breathlessly.
Rowan didn’t let go of her hand. “Then they made their last mistake.”
They ran.
Jane stood, still shaking, at the edge of the ruined hall.
The mural’s glow had faded, but the echo of its warning hadn’t.
“They’ll come again,” she said, voice barely above the wind.
Rowan looked toward the north. “Then we don’t wait here to be found.”
Nara nodded. “There’s an old path through the highlands. One the Pooka used—hidden, and dangerous. But it leads to what remains of the clans. If any of your kind survived, that’s where they’ll be.”
Jane swallowed.
