The night was too quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as it passed over the walls of Ravenclaw. From her balcony, Evelyn looked out over the sleeping pack. The fires that once burned as beacons of rebuilding had dwindled to faint glows, leaving the village bathed in silvery moonlight. It should have brought peace. Instead, it felt like the calm before a storm.
She could feel it — that strange hum in the air, the low vibration in her chest that came whenever danger drew near. The Moon whispered, though not in words. It was more like a chill that sank into her bones, a warning that something was watching.
Behind her, the door creaked open. George entered quietly, his expression unreadable. He had always been her steady pillar, sharp-minded and loyal since the beginning. But tonight, even his presence carried a weight.
"They found another patrol dead near the northern ridge," he said, his voice low. "No scent trail. No sign of struggle. Just... gone."
