[Third Person].
The moment Draven took another step further away, the mate bond reacted.
It wasn't pain this time, it was pressure.
Meredith felt it first—a sudden tightness in her chest that forced the breath from her lungs. She staggered back a step, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress as her knees weakened.
Inside her, Valmora surged in alert, guarded. "Something is wrong."
Meanwhile, across the clearing, Draven slowed abruptly. His spine stiffened, breath hitching as a sharp, unfamiliar tension wrapped around his ribs—as if an invisible thread had been pulled too tight, too fast.
Rhovan bristled inside him, hackles raised, instinct screaming warning without explanation.
Draven pressed a hand briefly to his chest, brows furrowing. "What in the—"
Neither of them, Meredith or Draven, turned back. Neither of them understood it yet.
