The moment the messenger stepped into Crescent Ridge, the air shifted. It wasn’t the usual tension that came with patrol reports or border skirmishes. This was something heavier, something darker. A ripple of unease slid across the pack, silent but sharp, like the forest itself had drawn a breath and held it.
Talon stayed close to me as we approached the Alpha’s hall. His hand brushed against mine, a silent promise of protection. I took comfort in it, though my stomach coiled in anticipation.
The messenger moved with measured grace, a scroll sealed with the Luna’s silver emblem clutched tightly in their hand. I’d seen the symbol before, in legends, in whispered conversations with Talon. A mark of authority and power, older than Crescent Ridge itself.
“Alpha Aleric.” The messenger said,
