The air around the Moondance Pack territory crackled with tension as Celeste moved closer to the witches’ circle. The witches—Amara, Eliza, Rowan, and Seraphina—stood with an eerie, unyielding grace, their voices merging into a haunting melody that weaved a shimmering, almost impenetrable barrier. The air crackled with the raw power they wielded, a reminder of the peril Celeste faced if she failed to break through.
Every step closer to the witches’ circle felt like moving against an invisible tide, the air thickening around her. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and a static charge prickled across her skin. She could almost taste the electric tension, sharp and metallic, on her tongue. Celeste’s breath hitched; she had to break through, for the pack’s survival hung in the balance.
As
