EMMA
The first thing I notice is the sound.
Not the sirens—those come later.
It’s the shift in the air.
The estate changes its breathing, like a massive creature drawing in a slow, collective inhale. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Doors close softly but decisively. Boots crunch against snow with new purpose. Even the wind feels different, threading itself through the trees like it’s carrying messages I don’t understand.
Lune Noire is closing ranks.
Gabriel turns fully toward the forest now, shoulders squared, posture unmistakably Alpha. Whatever softness he’d allowed himself in front of me is gone—not erased, but locked away behind something older and sharper.
“They’re moving,” he says.
“Who?” I ask, though I already know.
“The outer pack,” he replies. “Scouts. Sentinels. Eve
