The wolves did not scatter, but the torches in the courtyard burned lower. Every look turned suspicious as they remained in restless knots, their voices hissing like wind through parched leaves. Blood, smoke, and worse, expectation, were all in the air.

Every time Elaria breathed, her chest constricted. The words echoed over and over in her skull:

Tomorrow night, I claim the pit.

She had to stop it. Somehow.

Her palms stung where her nails had broken skin during the declaration, but she ...