Chapter 27. Serana’s Teeth

The scent of smoldering embers and charred wood always drifted in behind everything else. First came the acrid tang of smoke, curling through the trees like a living thing. Then the ragged echoes of screams, raw and distant, ripped through the hush that falls before destruction. Then the metallic sting of fresh blood, sharp on the back of the throat. Only after that—only when the forest itself fell silent, as if finally admitting it had borne witness—did the true odor of ash settle into the air.

Thornroot knew war. Its history was etched into every twisted trunk and blackened beam, every crooked path that led nowhere. But nothing had ever marked this place like the night’s coming would.

They arrived at twilight, slipping in like wounds in the dimming light. Not along the beaten roads or the watch-lines that ran like spiderwebs across the eastern slope. They threaded through the birchwood, barefoot on moss that swallowed their steps, breath held tight in their chests. The