The moon hung low and blood-red, an omen none could ignore. Lanterns bobbed like fireflies along the summit plaza as pack representatives and warriors gathered for the First Moon Vigil—a night-long vigil meant to honor the old prophecies and guard against the rising darkness.
Evelyn stood at the heart of the plaza, cloaked in silver fur and midnight-blue silk, Aria stirring softly within her. Ronan moved beside her, his shadow stretching across the cold stone. Even Damien lingered at the edge of the circle, his gaze never leaving Evelyn’s back.
The High Priestess Maela raised her arms, calling for silence. “Tonight, we remember the prophecies of our ancestors. We stand guard, that no curse may slip through the cracks of our unity.”
A hush fell. Then, in the quiet, a drumbeat began—low,
