Selvara’s chest heaved, every breath a rasp through clenched teeth. Her chains rattled faint in the dark as if mocking her silence. She wanted to howl, to spit rage, but the sound stayed caught in her throat like claws raking from the inside. Her golden eyes glowed sharp under the fire’s dying embers. She stayed that way for hours, shaking but refusing to break.
The stronghold slept uneasy.
–––––––––––
The attack came three days later.
It started with the crows—too many of them circling in the gray sky, their cries harsh and ragged. Elias was the first to notice while hauling water from the broken well. His gut twisted. Crows meant bodies. Bodies meant hunters.
He dropped the bucket, water splashing over his boots. "Shit."
He bolted back inside, panting, his voice cracking. "They’re
