The moon was a thin crescent by the time Christian stepped into the main house. The familiar scents of sage and fresh bread mingled in the air, but they did little to calm the storm in his mind. The compound was unusually quiet tonight, grief weighing down the pack like a lead blanket. Christian could feel it—an oppressive, gnawing sense of vulnerability.
Daisy was waiting for him in the hallway, her arms crossed, but it wasn’t defiance he saw in her eyes tonight. It was fear, sharp and raw, barely masked by her usual resolve. Her fingers toyed nervously with the Moon’s Tear at her throat, the faint pulse of the crystal’s light throwing her face into soft relief.
“What’s happening, Christian?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady.
Christian hesitated. Dais
