Chapter 21

Weston

Moonlight painted the treetops silver, yet a strangeless stillness pressed in on me the moment we crossed into the forest. It wasn’t peace; it was an absence of life.

Even at midnight the woods around Mooncrest hummed with whispers—rodents scurrying, owls hooting, wind stirring branches—but now, nothing stirred. My wolf growled beneath my skin: Something is wrong.

The warning sirens had ripped every warrior from sleep less than three minutes ago, racing us toward the eastern border.

We’d trained for rogue raids—fierce, disorganized, driven by survival. But tonight the air itself tasted of malice. Dominic fell into step beside me, shifting his weapons with a practiced ease.

“Eastern patrol spotted movement beyond the tree line,” he said.

“How many?” I demanded, scanning the darkness. Our scouts were unmatched—I trusted their skill—yet Dominic’s jaw tightened. “They don’t know.”

My heart sank. If seasoned trackers cannot gauge an