CLARE – POV
We didn't go into the forest.
Not yet.
Instead, the carts creaked to a stop outside what looked like an old, rotting stone lodge — like someone gutted a hunting cabin and rebuilt it with menace and mildew. Massive iron gates loomed ahead, and the air thickened the closer we got. Magic. I could feel it buzzing under my skin, like static before a storm.
I guess even wolves liked their cages wrapped in curses.
The wolves herding us barked sharp, guttural orders, snapping the reins on the horses pulling our carts. The wheels groaned, the scent of wet earth and old blood thick in the air. My stomach churned.
They unloaded us like supplies.
One by one.
Chain-linked necks. Shackled wrists. Cold iron pressed to skin.
I didn't fight.
No one did.
Because there was something worse than the wolves in the air tonight.
Something watching.
Waiting.
