Her heart thumping in her ears, Aria stood at the edge of the Moonlit Grove. The night air smelled faintly of blood, pine, and something else—something older, more powerful, coiling through the trees like a quiet watcher. She closed her eyes momentarily, inhaled gently.
Her arm throbbed in time with her pulse, a soft but forceful reminder of the force she had unearthed and the obligations that followed. Her soul had been restless since the disclosures of the forbidden well.
Her dreams were visions of a long-ago past, the hush of ancient voices calling of wars yet to be fought, and a destiny too great for her mortal frame. She forced herself to be steady by swallowing hard.
Benevolent sentinels behind her, Jace and Cassian nursed injuries from the most recent skirmishes with the Dark Wolves. Every time they caught her withering, or whenever she stopped to steady herself against a tree, their eyes flicked with concern.
