The Rogue Luna
The ground beneath our feet was uneven, the stones cracked with age.
Torches burned with an eerie blue flame, casting unnatural light against the walls.
“Something isn’t right,” Damian muttered.
I could feel it too.
A presence.
A force watching us.
Luca moved ahead, his hand brushing against one of the carvings. “These symbols… they tell a story.”
I stepped closer, tracing my fingers over the markings. The images depicted wolves—alphas, omegas, battles. But there, at the center, was a single figure.
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