The forest did not return to normal.
Not fully.
Sound came back in fragments—leaves rustling, distant insects resuming their song—but it felt… cautious. As if the world itself were waiting to see what would happen next before committing to motion.
She sat near the fire long after the presence vanished, hands resting loosely in her lap, breath slow and controlled. Her pulse had steadied, but something deeper inside her remained awake—alert in a way that felt new.
Not fear.
Readiness.
Silas was the first to move.
He circled the perimeter without a word, boots silent against the earth, eyes sharp, posture coiled. Rowan remained seated, elbows braced on his knees, staring into the fire with an expression that had lost all humor. Alaric stayed close—close enough that she felt him without turning, a solid, quiet gravity at her side.
"You feel that, don't you?" Rowan said finally.
"Yes," she replied.
"The waiting," he clarified.
She nodded.
