The battle was over, but Ravenclaw did not sleep. The courtyard glowed with the flicker of torches, shadows stretched long across the stone walls, and the air smelled of blood and smoke. Healers rushed between the wounded, their hands slick with crimson as they worked to bind torn flesh and mend broken bones. Mothers clutched their children tight, whispering prayers of gratitude that they had survived another night.
Evelyn stood in the center of it all, her clothes torn, her body streaked with dirt and blood that was not entirely her own. Every muscle ached, yet she held her head high. Her wolf prowled restless inside her, demanding vigilance even now.
"Luna."
The word came again, soft and reverent, as warriors approached her one by one. They bowed their heads not because Damien stood behind her, but because of her. Because tonight, she had stood between them and death itself.
