The first Hunter didn’t move like a creature.
It moved like judgment itself.
No breath. No sound. No hesitation.
Just the slow, inevitable step of something that had passed through centuries untouched by mercy.
With his blade burning in his hand and his breath misting from the cold leaking through the entryway, Jace braced himself in front of us. I was standing behind him, my heart thumping so loudly that I was afraid the Hunters might smell the shivers running down my spine.
But Rowan…
Rowan didn’t flinch.
He stood between us, barefoot on the wooden floor, eyes wide but clear. Kaelen was there—still a whisper behind the boy’s voice—but Rowan was holding the reins.
And the Mate Hunters were watching him.
Not Jace.
Not me.
Only him.
The lead Hunter—clad in bone-wrapped leather,
