The silence of Silas’s chambers was no longer a sanctuary; it was a cage. I stood by the window, the bone-handled dagger clutched so tightly my knuckles ached. Outside, the moon was a sliver of ice, but the forest below was alive with a different kind of light. Those six flickers—the Inquisition scouts—were moving with a predatory grace that made even the wolves of the Black Ridge look clumsy.
From the valley below, the sounds of battle echoed—the bone-chilling roars of shifting wolves and the sharp, metallic tang of the Inquisition’s "Light-blades." Silas was down there, fighting to keep them from me, but a sickening realization twisted my gut.
The six scouts weren't the main force. They were the distraction.
A soft thud landed on the stone balcony just outside the bedroom doors.
My h
