The first sign that refusing the Crescent Dominion had consequences came at dawn.
Not a sound.
Not a scent.
Not even the bond stirring in warning.
It was the absence of the forest that told me something was wrong.
Birds did not sing.
The wind did not move the leaves.
Even the insects, usually relentless in the early hours, were silent.
I opened my eyes slowly, already tense, fingers tightening around the dagger beneath my cloak. The cold ground pressed against my back, damp from the night air. I had chosen this place because it was defensible, rocky outcrop at my back, narrow approach, limited visibility.
Someone had walked through it anyway.
I rose carefully, keeping low, senses stretching outward. The forest felt… muted. As though something had passed through and stripped it of
