Three days after the first report, the pattern became undeniable.
"Eastern ridge again," Marcus reported at morning briefing. His face was drawn tight, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual. "Same cold scent. But this time..." He unrolled a sketch he'd made, charcoal on rough parchment. "They marked trees."
I studied the drawing. Three parallel lines carved deep into bark. Deliberate. Purposeful. The strokes were clean, precise, made with something sharp enough to cut through living wood like butter. Not claws. Blades. The marks were too uniform, too controlled for anything natural.
"Territory markers," Lyra said quietly. She'd gone pale, her usual composure cracking to reveal genuine fear beneath. "I've seen these in old texts. Vampire boundary marks."
