The battlefield still stank of blood and ash, but the silence that followed the Bone Beast’s death was more dangerous than the fight itself. Wolves padded in restless circles, hackles raised, ears twitching at every sound from the ruined Gate. The snow was scorched black where blood had spilled, and though the night was clear, the moon’s light felt muted—as though even the heavens feared what had just been unleashed.
Draven held Elaria in his arms, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone. Her head rested against his chest, her breath shallow but steady, and he would not let go. He couldn’t—not when the thought of losing her still clawed at him like a nightmare he hadn’t yet escaped.
Then came the voice that cut through the silence like a blade.
“Elaria.”
Draven turned his head, his
