The forest had never been this quiet.
Not even during the coldest winters, or the bloodiest hunts. But now, in the aftermath of Rowan’s return from the Blood Tree’s hollow, the silence was unnatural. Reverent. The kind of hush that settles after the fall of gods.
Quinn kept his arm wrapped around Rowan’s shoulders, guiding him down the slope that led back to the edge of Thorn territory. The boy said nothing. His small hand, still tinged with residual light, remained steady in Quinn’s grasp.
But Quinn could feel it—like a second heartbeat beneath Rowan’s skin.
Kaelen hadn’t gone. Not entirely.
Jace walked ahead of them, tense and watchful. His hand hadn’t left the hilt of his blade since they left the grove, and his wolf was pacing just beneath the surface, ears pinned and teeth bared.
