Chapter 26. The Moon Howls

The travel was a nightmare measured in shallow breaths and the sticky, humid stench of burning copper that clung to Aria. Jules, possessing a desperate strength that belied her academic frame, did not rely on physical speed for long. Instead, she used a sequence of ancient, tightly controlled leaps—small, directional warps of space that were agonizingly effective and completely untraceable by the Wolf Pack’s conventional pursuit magic. She carried Aria like a precious, unstable burden, the stolen artifact tucked into her belt, its green warding magic humming faintly, masking their trail.

They landed, finally, in the deepest, most sacred section of the Gravewood Forest, a place outside Wolf territory but revered by all old bloodlines as neutral ground. It was marked by colossal, petrified trees whose roots were said to tangle with the deepest ley lines of the world. Jules laid Aria down on a bed of dry moss next to a massive slab of granite, which she immediately began inscribi