I don’t hear him at first.
The forest behind Selene’s cabin is quiet this morning, softer than yesterday, the light pale and cool. My body still hums with leftover magic, my bones tingling, but it’s… gentler now. Contained. Mostly.
I sit on the small wooden steps, hair braided loosely over one shoulder, breathing in pine and early frost. I’m still in borrowed clothes — soft linen, sleeves a little too long, nothing like Crescent Crest’s rigid uniforms.
I’m about to close my eyes when the air shifts.
Not wind.
Not magic.
Presence.
Someone is watching.
I go very still, the way we’re trained to in Crescent Crest — not to hide, but to assess.
Footsteps approach, slow, measured, unthreatening. Whoever it is has control in their bones. Calm where others would be loud, steady where other
