Lyla crouched at the edge of the clearing, her fingers brushing the cold dirt beneath her palms.

The scent of blood had faded, but the wrongness lingered beneath the surface a quiet hum of tension in the air. The forest was holding its breath.

She closed her eyes, letting her senses sharpen. The pulse of the earth beneath her feet. The whisper of the wind through the leaves. The quiet energy humming beneath the surface.

It felt… strained.

As if the forest itself was bracing for ...