A pale frost glazed the ruined battlements of Winter Keep under the waxing moon, turning stone into ghostly ivory. Lanterns—rigged by Lark's ingenious counterweight hoist—swung gently above the old courtyard, casting dancing shadows across cracked flagstones. Within the hidden catacombs below, Sylvie Lightwhisper and her companions prepared for their most delicate mission yet: infiltrating the Keep's solstice masquerade to gather intelligence and signal their Frostfang allies.
Sylvie crouched beside a rough-hewn alcove, heart pounding. Her silver-threaded mask—crafted by Lark from lightweight bronze, etched with Echo runes—felt impossibly fragile on her cheekbones. She smoothed the hem of her dark velvet cloak as Thorne knelt to adapt his own steel mask, its design echoing a wolf's snarli
