Three weeks after their return, Selena woke in the middle of the night with her heart racing and the golden-crimson flames flickering weakly around her hands. Beside her, Dante slept peacefully in the small shelter they had built on the outskirts of one of the freed settlements. His breathing was steady, his presence in their link calm and undisturbed. Nothing was wrong, and yet everything felt wrong.
She slipped out of their makeshift bed carefully, not wanting to wake him, and stepped outside into the night. The air should have been fresh, clean, invigorating after centuries of the marrow's corruption. The stars should have been bright, the darkness comforting rather than oppressive. But as Selena stood under the open sky, she felt something that made her skin crawl with unease.
Silence.
