The forest was quiet—too quiet.
Evelyn stood still at the edge of the clearing, her dagger gripped tightly in her hand, her breathing slow and steady. The sky above was a dull gray, heavy with clouds, and the scent of rain lingered in the air. But beneath the scent of damp leaves and bark was something far more dangerous—wolves. Not just any wolves. Bounty hunters.
“They’re close,” Ronan muttered beside her. His voice was low and calm, but his posture was tense. One hand hovered near the hilt of his blade, the other clenched at his side.
Evelyn nodded once, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet. Her instincts were prickling with warning. Over the past few days, they’d felt it—something off, something unnatural about the silence that had settled over the rogue lands. No wild anima
