The forest whispered with secrets as the night settled in, every rustle of leaf and crack of twig magnified in Aria’s ears. The battle’s echoes still clung to her skin—the scent of blood, the cries of the dying, the press of Kaelen’s gaze burning into her even across the chaos.
She sat hunched near the hollow of a fallen tree, her cloak drawn tight, her hands trembling not from cold but from memory. Her palms still glowed faintly with the aftershock of healing, as though the power inside her had no intention of being silent now that it had awakened.
Her wolf murmured inside her mind, calm, steady, insistent: We are Luna. We are meant to be seen.
But Aria’s heart wavered.
Kaelen had seen her. She was certain of it. His eyes had locked with hers, fierce and unyielding, and for that fleet
