*Lyra*
The night presses in heavy, and colder than it should be for late fall. I pace along the edge of the clearing, boots grinding the dirt, every nerve straining for a sound or a trace of him. Bram should have been back hours ago. He was only supposed to sweep the perimeter; nothing that should have kept him gone past nightfall. But the moon has climbed to its peak, bright and full above the tree line, and still, there’s no sign of him.
Each time the wind changes direction, I lift my head, desperate for his scent. Still, nothing. The silence feels wrong, dangerous, and my chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe. Maybe he got hurt in the storm… I shudder at the thought.
The crack of twigs snaps my head around. Figures emerge from the tree line moving quickly across the clearing. Jor
