Dawn slid quietly over the Bloodstone lands. A pale gold light spilled between the trees, catching on dew and turning the whole forest into a mosaic of silver and amber. The world felt washed clean—new, unscarred.
Crystal stood on the terrace outside the Luna’s chamber, her bare feet cool against the stone. She closed her eyes and breathed in the morning: pine, earth, the soft musk of wolves still in their shifted forms somewhere out beyond the treeline. It was a scent that now meant home.
It’s quiet, Bree murmured within her mind, voice low and thoughtful. Too quiet.
Crystal smiled faintly. “You’re just not used to peace.”
Maybe, Bree said, though there was a tremor of unease beneath her tone. Or maybe the world is holding its breath.
The words lingered long after Bree’s voice faded.
