Azura's POV
The room felt heavy, the kind of air that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to catch your breath. I sat beside Genevieve on the long, cushioned sofa, my hands folded tightly in my lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.
The velvet fabric beneath me was soft, worn smooth from years of use, but I couldn't relax. Not with the weight of what we'd discovered at the stream still hanging over us. The memory of those creatures, their terrifying strength, and the way they had dragged the children away was burned into my mind.
Rhydor sat across from us in a large, heavy oak armchair, his posture so rigid he looked like a statue. His face was carved from ice, giving away absolutely nothing. He hadn't said much since we had returned to the pack house. He just sat there, staring at the wall like it held all the answers to our problems.
