The heavy thud of the iron gate locking behind Elena echoed through the ancient spruce forest like a death knell.
The air inside the Sacred Ridge was bitterly cold, smelling of damp peat, crushed hemlock, and old stagnant water. Thick ribbons of white fog twisted between the massive tree trunks, so dense that visibility dropped to less than ten paces. High above, the interlocking branches of the canopy blocked out the sky, plunging the woodland floor into an eerie, perpetual twilight.
Elena stood motionless on the damp pine needles, her senses flaring outward.
Thirty paces ahead, the six pairs of crimson eyes gleamed within the mist. Low, wet hisses vibrated through the brush as the creatures shifted, their long, sinewy bodies creeping low to the soil.
Shadow-crawlers.
They were feral
