The ground changed beneath their feet.
Less soft. Rockier. Leaves became scarce, replaced by dry earth littered with dark shards. The wind, too, had vanished—or maybe it had simply curled up on the ground, like everything else.
A faint rustle barely whispered through the air. Élisa was the first to react, pressing herself against a bent trunk.
A shadow suddenly passed—not in front of them, but overhead.
They were already surrounded.
Maggie didn't look up. She simply laid two fingers on the handle of her axe. Down below, Dylan slowly knelt, palms flat against the stone, breath held. He couldn't see anything, but his body already knew.
They were being watched from all sides, like the enemy was waiting for them to make one wrong move before pouncing. Or maybe the pack was still hesitating—knowing that once they sprung the trap, there'd be no turning back.
And then, a sharp bark rang out. Short. Deep.
