The first thing Damian noticed when he woke was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind that came before dawn — this was the hollow quiet of a world holding its breath. Even the forest had stilled. No whisper of wind, no rustle of leaves, no heartbeat but his own.
Then he realized — it wasn't true silence.
It was the hum.
That low, thrumming vibration that lived just beneath sound, crawling under his skin, pulsing behind his ribs. The Rift.
He sat up sharply, sweat slick on his neck. His wolf stirred, restless, pacing the edges of his mind like a caged storm. Something's coming, it growled. Something old.
Damian dragged in a breath and stood, scanning the horizon beyond the camp. The morning light hadn't yet broken, but the east glowed faintly with a bruised violet haze — not dawn, not night. A place between.
A whisper brushed the edge of his hearing.
Soft. Female. Familiar.
Damian…
He froze. The voice coiled around him like smoke, tender and venomous all at once.
