Aria*
The manor felt like it was holding its breath.
Wolves moved through the halls quicker than usual, their voices pitched low, and their ears tuned north. Trays rattled faintly in servants’ hands. Every open window seemed to inhale and exhale the same thin, cold air from the border.
I knew before anyone said a word that something had shifted.
By the time I reached the training yard, Rhea was already there, blade in hand, moving through a slow series of cuts that looked more like meditation than attack. Her focus was turned inward, but the tight set of her mouth gave her away.
“Rhea,” I called.
She finished her strike, held the final position a beat too long, then relaxed and turned.
“Luna,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm. “You’re up early. Nerve
