The training hall smelled faintly of iron and sage, the wards woven into the stone humming low like a pulse under the skin. Shifting class was never quiet—wolves muttering, stretching, cracking joints like they were prepping for war—but today every sound scraped straight down my spine. My head still ached from the week. From them. From the bond. From everything.
I planted myself on a mat near the back, tugging at the hem of my black top like fabric might magically make me look less like the girl who’d been thrown into the spotlight as the quads’ Little Luna. Spoiler: it didn’t.
Professor Brannick stalked to the center, boots echoing across the warded stone. He didn’t bother raising his voice. He didn’t need to. The wards reacted before we did—sigils along the ceiling flaring once, sharp
