The first sign that something was wrong came at dawn.
Not the horns. Not the cold. Not the ache that lived permanently in my bones now.
It was the silence.
The mountain camp had its own rhythm boots against stone, low voices, the scrape of weapons being lifted and tested. Even before the sun rose, there was movement. Controlled. Disciplined. Predictable.
This morning, there was none of it.
I opened my eyes slowly, every instinct alert. The stone shelter felt colder than usual, the air heavier. I rose without sound and stepped outside.
The training grounds were empty.
No sparring. No drills. No barking commands. Wolves stood in small clusters instead, voices low, tense. Faces drawn. Hands resting too close to weapons.
This wasn’t rest.
This was anticipation.
Sera stood near the ce
