The silence after the howl was almost worse than the sound itself.
A hush fell over Hollow Fang Keep, the kind that made every heartbeat feel too loud, too fragile. Aria stood motionless on the battlements, wind tugging at her cloak, flame dancing faintly beneath her skin. Tobias, Marcus, and Dorian flanked her, eyes sharp and scanning the darkness. Below them, the wounded stopped groaning. Even the wolves howled no more.
Then came the scent.
Ash. Ice. Blood.
A ripple of nausea rolled through Aria as it hit her—unnatural, sour, ancient. She staggered a step before Dorian caught her elbow. His fingers were warm against her skin, grounding.
"I feel it too," he whispered.
"So do I," Marcus muttered, drawing his sword.
Tobias was already moving. "Come on. Whatever crossed through... it's still in the Keep."
