The word lingered.
WAIT.
It wasn’t smeared, wasn’t hurriedly scrawled in some desperate final moment—it was deliberate. Precise. Written with a hand that wanted them to see it.
And that was what made it worse.
Mikhail exhaled sharply through his nose, muscles coiled so tightly Makayla swore she could hear the tension in his bones. His gaze never left the word, his mind turning over possibilities, strategies, warnings.
Draven, for once, was silent.
Vivienne?
She was studying it.
Her fingers hovered over the dried blood, but she didn’t touch it. Not yet. Not until she could understand what it meant.
Makayla couldn’t breathe properly.
Every part of her screamed that something was wrong.
The forest felt off. Not just quiet, but—
Still.
Like something was watching.
Like something
