Amara’s POV
A red paint job was applied to the sky. The deep, enraged crimson of a rising blood moon, not the red of firelight or sunsets. Like a plague on the land, it hung high over the Obsidian Pack's camp.
The wind howled all around me as I stood in the middle of the camp, my hands clenched tightly. My arms were tingling from head to toe. The air was thick with power, raw, untamed, and terrible, and the ground shook slightly beneath my boots.
I looked up at the sky and said quietly, "They're coming again."
"Amara! Mira came running up to me, pale and out of breath. "The ghosts... they talked." Her voice wavered as she said, "They told me to tell you." "The Witch's hour is now."
I went cold. My blood froze.
"The hour of the Witch? "
With wide eyes, Mira nodded. She is fueled by t
