The ritual didn’t look dangerous.
That should have been the warning.
Aisha stood in the center of the small clearing behind the pack house, snow packed flat beneath her boots.
Symbols had been drawn into the ground—simple, pale lines etched into the frost. Candles flickered around the edges, their flames steady despite the cold.
Amara hovered close, adjusting the hem of Aisha’s coat like an older sister would.
“See?” she said softly. “Nothing scary. Just breathe.”
Aisha nodded, though her stomach twisted. “You’re sure this is just to… quiet things?”
Amara met her eyes. “Completely.”
The elders present began murmuring in a low, rhythmic cadence.
Not chanting—just speaking old words, careful and deliberate. The air shifted, pressure building like the moment before a storm.
At fir
