DYERNothing announces itself when the day begins.

The den wakes as it always does, light seeping through corridors, life resuming with practiced ease, as though fate has not spoken and nothing waits ahead.

That false calm is its own punishment.

The Shaman’s words do not fade with time. They rise with me, fully formed, already waiting. I feel them before my feet touch the floor, before my mind settles into command and schedule and restraint.

A sacrifice will be made.

Not today. Not tomorrow. ...