The lullaby drifted through the cracked door, soft, lilting, ancient, carried on a voice that should not exist in this world. Elara froze, claws extending instinctively, silver fur bristling along her spine. The amulet at her throat burned like a brand, blackening the skin beneath it. Kael’s hand closed around her wrist, hard, grounding, his own claws pricking her skin without breaking it. “Stay behind me,” he growled. She shook her head, eyes fixed on the sliver of light spilling from their chambers. “That’s our room. Our child’s cradle.” The lullaby faltered, then resumed, closer now, intimate, as though sung directly into her ear. Kael kicked the door wide. The room was untouched, bed made, furs folded, weapons still racked along the wall. Moonlight poured through the tall windows, silver and cold, painting the cradle in ghostly light. The cradle rocked, slow, rhythmic, even though no hand touched it. Inside: a bundle of black cloth, no child, but something wrapped tight.
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