In the instant the gentle glow of the skill in Lucy’s hand faded, a faint sound drifted from the forest, like someone slowly dragging coarse fabric over damp ground. Ethan’s head snapped up, the piece of meat in his hand frozen midair. He tilted his head, palm spreading to signal silence, his eyes cutting toward the shelter’s entrance.
Lucas was already pressed against the wall, spear shaft resting on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ethan shook his head. The group ducked low all at once, their long breaths broken into shallow, clipped gasps. Outside, near the pit trap they had camouflaged that afternoon, the night wind pushed through the dry leaves, weaving a steady rustling chorus. Within it was a rhythm that did not belong to the wind, soft as shadow, but heavy, measured
