The first thing I feel is the wind.
Not the soft whisper of the sanctuary's air, not the quiet breath of the valley that cradles and protects, but something sharper, colder, edged with intent. It slides across my skin like a warning.
My Mark flares.
Not painfully.
Not violently.
Alertly.
I'm on my feet before I fully wake, breath already shallow, wolf rising beneath my skin like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.
"Someone crossed the boundary," my wolf murmurs.
The sanctuary never sleeps, but it listens. And right now, it is listening hard.
I step outside my shelter and find Maera already standing at the edge of the lake, staff in hand, eyes fixed on the darkened pass that leads out of the valley.
"You felt it too," I say.
Maera nods. "Yes."
"Council?" I ask.
Her mouth tightens. "Not directly."
That almost makes it worse.
The wolves of the sanctuary emerge one by one, silent and alert. Ilyra appears at my side, blades strapped to her thighs, eyes sharp.
