The forest was too quiet.
Moonlight filtered softly through the silver leaves of the ancient grove, but even it seemed muted—as if the world itself was holding its breath. No birds sang their evening song. No branches rustled in a breeze. Just that heavy, oppressive silence hovered over the clearing where Caleb lay, unconscious but still breathing. His pale face, framed by dark curls, was unnervingly still under the dim glow of spirit-tainted moonlight.
Aria knelt at his side, one hand pressing gently to his chest, feeling each ragged beat as though it might suddenly stop. In her other hand she brushed his sweaty hair from his forehead. Sweat beaded there, her touch leaving a damp trail. The pressure in the glade was heavy enough to choke on. She swallowed it down. Caleb was alive—and that was what mattered. For now.
"Elena," she whispered over her shoulder.
