Beneath the Howling Pines
“Cursed ones. Four, maybe five. We don’t know if they’ve crossed the border yet.”
I was already pulling on my boots. “Where’s Silas?”
“Gone ahead,” she said, tone clipped. “Of course.”
Of course, he had.
I shifted mid-run, the bones cracking clean as Nyx surged forward and took control. Her body moved like lightning through the trees, leaping over fallen logs, paws pounding the ground in a rhythm older than language.
The moment I reached the ridge, I smelled them.
Rot. Decay. Something like burnt fur and iron.
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