Chapter 45. Ghost Hunt

The scent hit her first—damp decay stinging her nostrils, sour and heavy like blood pooling in cold earth. Aeryn halted mid-stride, fingers splayed against the rough wood of her quiver strap as though bracing against an unseen blow. Behind her, four scouts froze in perfect silence, shoulders tightening, breath held. Their leader’s stillness was command enough—they’d been taught to move like shadows, speak like ghosts.

Before them yawned the threshold of the Ebonwild, the final stretch of untamed forest before Thornroot. Here the trees grew fat-trunked and ancient, their blackened bark wrapped in veins of silver moss that glimmered like moonlight. Above, the canopy arched into a living roof—gnarled branches weaving overhead as if to bite. No wind rattled the leaves. No birdsong broke the hush. Even the fallen leaves lay mute, as though petrified by time.

Aeryn dropped into a squat, fingertips brushing the bare earth where the moss ended. The ground was chilling to the bon