The forest didn’t feel wrong at first.
That was the problem.
The path curved gently through towering trees, moonlight filtering down in soft silver ribbons. Leaves rustled. Insects hummed. Life continued as if nothing in the world had fundamentally changed.
Which meant it had.
I slowed.
Ronan noticed instantly.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But the land stopped speaking.”
Not silent—withholding.
Ronan’s posture shifted, his awareness widening. “That’s not natural.”
“No,” I agreed. “It’s deliberate.”
We kept moving, but every step felt measured now, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
The rogue wolf from earlier crossed our path again—this time closer. He didn’t shift, didn’t growl. Just watched, eyes reflecting moonlight, calculating.
Rona
