The ravine looked different under the full moon.
Sharper. Closer.
Silver light poured down the rocky walls, turning moss to pale fire and the ward line to a visible shimmer, like heat above asphalt. The air hummed with it—magic, wolf, anticipation.
Lyra stood at the edge of the cleared space, boots on cold dirt, palms damp.
Wolves ringed the ravine: Atlas, Elara, Cassian at the front, Darius and Nia flanking, patrol leads spaced along the slope. Further back, the rest of Hollow Ridge—warriors, techs, elders, pups perched on rocks with orders to be silent.
Her old nightmares had circles in them. This one had more light.
Isolde stepped into the center, small and wiry, white hair braided down her back. She wore a simple dark dress, sleeves rolled to the elbow, feet bare on the ground.
