Grace
The wind shifted.
Kaleb felt it first—the faint change in scent that spoke of others drawing near. It was subtle, a whisper of musk and pine threaded with something darker. His head turned toward the trees, muscles tightening beneath skin still marked by half-healed wounds. The scars pulled slightly as he moved, reminders of battles survived but not forgotten.
Grace noticed the change in him before she heard or smelled anything. One moment he was still, the next he was all tension, every breath sharp. His shoulders squared, his jaw clenched, and the gold in his eyes began to burn again—not bright, not yet, but growing.
“What is it?” she whispered, voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
“Nothing yet.” His tone was calm, but his eyes weren’t. They flicked toward the tree l
