The forest ripped open like a wound.
Fog clung to the perimeter of the clearing, thick as breath, curling around the stones that jutted from the earth like broken teeth. The Conclave grounds were wide, a scar gouged out of the forest long before Vera was born, long before even Rael.
The ground was packed flat and dark, not by time but by blood—the kind that had been shed there, century after century, in challenges, in executions, and in oaths taken by wolves until death took them first.
The stone circle in the center of the clearing rose tall, each pillar etched with runes so old she couldn’t decipher them. But the surrounding air pulsed faintly, as though every vow and scream they’d ever heard was still resonating in their stones.
Even the wolves of Black Veil seemed to pause, thei
