LYRE
The moment we hit the Fiddleback subdivision, the arcana changes. It's darker, but strangely clean despite the undercurrent of blood magic seeping the land.
I notice the house before Jack-Eye points it out, because it glows like a beacon of bright arcana.
"That's where they had us stay," he says, as expected.
On the outside, it looks no different from the others. I'm sure the wolves wouldn't be able to sense how unique this particular domicile is. Perhaps even Fiddleback didn't know.
The moment we enter, the smell hits. It's not a physical scent—nothing the wolves would notice. But it's like a lingering odor clinging to the threads of arcana, mixed with sweat, wolf musk, and the unmistakable residue of werewolf sex.
One scent stands out with embarrassing clarity.
I glance at Aaron from the corner of my eye. "You worked hard."
