Silvercrest did not sleep that night.
Torches burned longer than they should have. The usual laughter that drifted from the cookhouse after dusk was absent, replaced by murmurs that slithered through the stone corridors like uneasy wind. Armor clinked where it normally would have rested. Footsteps passed more frequently outside doorways. The air itself felt alert.
Watching.
Listening.
Aria stood at the balcony outside the infirmary wing, her hands gripping the cool stone rail as if the solid weight of it could keep her thoughts from drifting back to the forest. The trap. The pit. The way Moonfire had surged through her without warning, bright and terrible and alive.
She could still feel the echo of it in her veins.
Behind her, Silvercrest stirred like a hive that had been struck.
Sh
