SCARLETT
The fires of victory had burned low, but the night refused to rest.
Frost clung to the ramparts of Blackridge Keep like powdered bone. Beyond the walls, the forest whispered every rustle of branch a warning, every gust of wind a secret. The red moon had waned to a thin, ghostly crescent, yet the air still throbbed with the memory of the Veil’s scream.
I couldn’t sleep.
The triune mark across my shoulder blades pulsed with a rhythm that wasn’t mine. Not pain exactly, not pleasure either something stranger, older. Moonbane, the ancient voice had called. It still echoed behind my eyes.
Kael found me first. His presence was unmistakable: a heat that pushed back the cold, a heartbeat I felt before I heard his boots on stone.
“You should be resting,” he said, cloak flaring behind
