Kora’s POV
The storm cleared by morning, leaving the forest drenched and glistening under a pale, broken sun. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and pine, but beneath it was something sharper—like iron and smoke. The scent of danger.
We moved again before the ground could dry, our boots squelching through mud. Edward led the way, his expression carved in stone, every movement controlled but tense. He hadn’t said much since the night before, but I could feel the worry radiating from him.
I didn’t blame him. I was worried too.
Something in me had changed during the storm. The fire wasn’t just warmth anymore—it had rhythm. It pulsed in time with something ancient, alive. And when I breathed too deeply, I swore I could taste ashes.
The others noticed, even if they said nothing.
