The forest didn’t move.
Not a breeze, not a branch, not a single sound escaped the dark. Only the thing—the Shadebound—stood at the edge of Rowan’s vision, shrouded in moonlight, half-submerged in mist.
Its eyes gleamed pale silver. Not glowing. Not alive.
Dead light.
And its mouth… stitched shut with silver wire that pulsed faintly in rhythm with Rowan’s own heartbeat.
“Jace,” Rowan whispered. “Do you see it?”
Jace followed his gaze, sharp and instinctive. His hand went to Rowan’s waist, protective and immediate. “I see it.”
“It hasn’t moved,” Rowan murmured.
“Then let me kill it before it does.”
But Rowan didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
The longer he stared, the more he felt it—a quiet hum behind his teeth, in his bones, under his skin. Like the thing was singing a song no one else
