The silence over Silver Creek was a lie. It was the heavy, breathless quiet of a world holding still, waiting for the axe to fall. The air itself tasted of ozone and tension, the pack's defensive wards humming at a frequency just beyond human hearing, a constant, low-grade ache in the teeth.
Luna sat on the floor of the main living area, crayons scattered around her. She wasn't drawing happy pictures anymore. On the sheet of paper before her was a chaotic scribble of black and crimson, a dark shape looming over a tiny, silver stick figure. Her lower lip trembled, but she didn't cry. She just stared at the drawing, a cold knot tightening in her tummy that had nothing to do with the room's temperature.
Aria and Kai were a few feet away, their heads close together over a holographic terrain map of the estate. Their voices were low, clipped.
