The rain hadn’t let up in three days.

It whispered against the estate windows like secrets too old to name, gray skies bleeding into the mood inside. For once, there were no crises, no council meetings, no patrol reports needing immediate attention. And yet, the air inside the packhouse was heavy with something Celeste couldn’t quite name.

Maybe it was the quiet. The peace that had started to feel too good to be true.

She stood in the main hall beside the wide window, watching Luna pad ...