The sky bled crimson.
It started at twilight—a subtle flush at the horizon that gradually darkened into an unnatural shade of scarlet. The Blood Moon had risen. Not a moment sooner. Not a moment later.
And the world held its breath.
Evelyn stood at the peak of Silvercrest's ridge, wind whipping through her hair. Her mark pulsed like a heartbeat on her palm—agitated, warning her of the power unraveling in the world below.
The trees groaned as if in pain, and the wind carried whispers in a language no one should understand.
“Tonight’s the night,” Ronan said, stepping up beside her. His jaw was tight. “The barrier between realms is thinner than paper. If they succeed now, there’s no undoing it.”
Evelyn nodded. “Then we stop them before they finish the ritual.”
Behind them, the warriors
