Lyra's eyes narrowed, her skepticism evident in the tight line of her mouth. "And you didn't think this information might be relevant before now? Before we were attacked by corrupted wolves and forest monsters?"
"Would you have believed me?" Apollo countered. "If I'd told you about golden corruption and living forests when we first met, would any of you have taken me seriously?"
A tense silence followed his words. Apollo felt the bow stir against his back, its warmth increasing as if responding to his discomfort. Something in the forest had changed, too—a subtle shift in the air, a heightening of awareness in the twisted trees surrounding them.
"We should keep moving," he said, rising to his feet. "This isn't a conversation for—"
A whisper cut through his words, so faint he thought he'd imagined it until he saw the others stiffen. It came from everywhere and nowhere, a susurration like dry leaves brushing against each other, yet somehow forming words just beyond comprehension.
