The wind had shifted twice in the last hour, each change bringing with it a new thread of scent—snow, pine, the faint smoke of a distant fire, and something else… something wild and sharp. Rowan paced along the tree line, boots sinking into the half-melted drifts as the late-morning sun strained through a bruised sky. The world was caught in the strange pause between winter's bite and spring’s thaw, everything too quiet, too still. Even the birds seemed hesitant.
Inside his mind, Asher prowled, restless and electric.
She’s close. Stop hesitating.
Rowan exhaled slowly, breath fogging the air. I’m not hesitating, he argued.
Liar.
push away both tension and irritation. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered aloud.
Asher snarled in response.
Rowan turned his attention back to the path, le
