Chapter 12 Whispers In The Dark

The night presses against the pack house like a living thing, thick and suffocating. I sit on the edge of my bed, the thin blanket twisted in my fists, staring at the window where the moon hangs low, its light fractured by jagged branches. The council camped just beyond the tree line—close enough that I can feel their eyes, even if I can’t see them. My skin crawls with it, a prickling unease that won’t let me rest. Sleep’s a lost cause. Every time I close my eyes, I see Torin’s stone-cold stare, Liora’s venomous smirk, the scarred man’s pen scratching secrets into that damn book. They’re out there, deliberating my fate, and I’m stuck here, waiting like prey. The shadow coils around my feet, restless, mirroring the storm in my chest. I flex my fingers, and they twist, sharp and eager, but I don’t know what to do with them—not yet.