WESLEY’S POV
The night was made for lies.
The forest stretched before me like a blackened sea, endless waves of shadow rippling under the weight of the moonlight. The air was cool, but it carried no freshness—it clung heavy, like breath before a storm. Each hoofbeat of my horse struck the earth like a drumbeat, carrying me closer to Greyfen, closer to tearing another piece from Crimson Fang’s fragile illusion of safety.
The silence of the night seemed to bow to me, broken only by the sound of my approach. I rode like I owned the darkness, like it bent itself to cover my sins. Because it did. The shadows had always been mine.
When I reached Greyfen’s borders, the forest came alive with growls. Warriors emerged from the trees, stepping into the path with blades glinting in the moonlight.
