The morning fog clung to the forest floor like a living thing, thick and suffocating. Celeste’s boots sank slightly into the wet soil with every step. She glanced at Hunter, his jaw tight, eyes scanning the shifting mist like a predator born to it. The tether had been severed, but Althea’s warning replayed in their minds: “The hand that held it is still out there.”

“Scouts?” Celeste murmured, voice low.

“They’ve reported movement,” Logan answered, appearing beside her, twin ...