The moon had barely risen when the scouts returned, their faces pale and streaked with sweat and blood. They stumbled into the great hall, boots leaving dark prints on the stone floor, and dropped to one knee before Victor and me. The pack gathered in tense silence, the crackle of the hearth the only sound besides the ragged breathing of the men who had seen too much.
Victor’s hand found mine, fingers lacing tight. His gold eyes burned as he looked at the lead scout. “Speak.”
The man lifted his head, voice hoarse. “Damien Caldwell is at the old Silver Ridge ruins. Alone. He has not eaten in days. He sits on the broken throne, staring at nothing. He keeps repeating your name, Luna. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a curse.”
The words landed like stones in still water. Ripples of pain s
