Emily Rosewood’s Point of View.
Raven Hollow, five weeks after the gate closed
The smoke was gone by morning, but the forest hadn’t recovered.
Birds refused to sing. The air tasted metallic, as though the world itself had bitten its tongue. Every wolf in the Hollow paced with raised hackles, ears swivelling at shadows that shouldn’t exist. Even the pups stayed close to their dens, eyes wide and tails tucked.
I stood at the edge of the moonlily sanctuary, arms crossed so tightly my nails dug crescents into my skin. The gnarled oak where the creature had vanished still smoked faintly, bark blackened in the shape of a screaming mouth. The scent of Sebastian’s blood lingered like a bruise.
Sebastian’s hand settled warm on my lower back. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I couldn’t,” I said, eyes fixe
