The camp was quieter today. The echo of drums and laughter had faded into the memory of yesterday’s celebration, leaving behind only the faint scent of wildflowers and overturned cider in the grass. Hollow Mountain, usually a stronghold of murmured strategies and footfalls, had softened. Birds called through the trees. Wind curled gently around the stone outcrops. Somewhere far off, a pup howled at nothing.

Celeste walked through the healer's tent with measured steps, her hands clasped ...