Morgana’s POV
The air smelled of damp earth and rotting roots. The moon barely filtered through the twisted branches of the forbidden forest, casting long, sharp shadows across the ground. I shouldn't be here.
But I had no other choice.
I quickened my pace, feeling the weight of my black cloak over my shoulders. The dampness soaked the hem of my dress, but I ignored it. The moment I crossed the last line of trees, I felt it.
Magic.
Not like ours—the magic of wolves. Not the strength of blood or the hierarchy of the packs. This was something older. Deeper. Something that twisted in the cracks of reality and whispered in the dark corners of the world.
A group of hooded figures emerged from the mist. I hadn’t heard them approach. I hadn’t scented them. They were simply... there.
Six in
