They say the first sign of an open Veil is the wind.
A cold that seeps through doors long bolted shut. Whispers where no one stands. Candles flickering out in rooms without drafts. Small things, easy to dismiss — until they’re not.
It started three nights after Kael and I burned the False Alpha to ash.
I woke in the middle of the night, tangled in Kael’s arms, heartbeat too loud in my throat. The room was warm, safe — but the wind was inside. It brushed across my bare shoulders, traced my throat, carried a scent that didn’t belong in this world.
Cinder. Old paper. Iron and salt.
The smell of a promise once broken — and now come to collect.
⸻
Kael stirred behind me. He felt it too — the mark on his chest flaring against my spine where we touched. His breath hitched near my ear. I fel
