Ronan was already moving the moment I pointed at the window.
He crossed the room in three long strides, shoulders tight, breath harsh, eyes locked on the frost. I stayed where I was, half rooted to the floor, half ready to bolt straight through the wall. My wolf paced violently behind my ribs, claws dragging at the inside of my skin like she wanted to break out and run.
Ronan leaned close to the glass.
The word sat there like a threat carved in ice.
Soon.
The letters were too perfect. Too sharp. Too intentional. The frost had been shaped, not formed naturally. I watched Ronan’s jaw clench as he traced a finger slowly along the outer edge of the letters without touching them.
“That is runic magic,” he said softly.
My throat tightened. “What does that mean?”
“It means someone put the
