The first whisper reached me before dawn.
I was in the training yard alone, steel singing against steel as I worked through the forms Krager had drilled into my bones. The air was cold enough to bite, the sky barely silver at the edges. I needed the discipline of movement, the clarity of exertion. My mind had been too loud lately.
A scout approached, breath fogging, boots skidding slightly on the frost. He knelt. He has been very loyal to me but has kept his distance, and I appreciated it.
“Luna.”
I lowered my blade. “Speak.”
“There is movement beyond the eastern ridge. Markings in the trees. Crescent Fang symbols.”
My grip tightened.
The Crescent Fangs.
We had broken them years ago. Or so we believed.
“Are you certain?” I asked.
“Yes. And…” He hesitated. “Tracks suggest more tha
