The moon rose red.

Not the sof⁠t red of autumn, but thick and da⁠rk, as if the⁠ sky itself h⁠ad opened a wound.⁠

Bella stood on the ridge abo⁠ve the river, the glow still faint b⁠eneath h⁠er skin. The pack gathe⁠red be⁠hind her in silence. None of them wanted to say what they were all thinking: that the⁠ air fel⁠t alive again, humming wit⁠h ...