The wind at the Rift’s far gate carried the faint smell of iron.
Not the clean tang of sharpened steel — the thick, heavy scent of blood.
Elinora stood just inside the shadow of the black stone arch, eyes fixed on the figures waiting beyond. They wore the Keep’s armor, dark leather reinforced with silver plates, the wolf’s head crest catching the fading light.
Her wolf’s ears flattened inside her mind. They’re not here to protect you.
She didn’t need the warning.
Riven stood at her right, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Kaelen leaned against the stone to her left, shadows curling lazily at his boots like coils of smoke. Neither man looked relaxed.
The leader of the Keep party stepped forward. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his armor newer than the rest — a sign of rank. Hi
