The forest had not forgotten.Even the next evening, the clearing where the rogue had fallen seemed altered—like the earth itself had absorbed his final words and refused to let them fade. A pale mist hovered low among the roots of the trees, and the scent of frost carried a metallic sharpness that didn’t belong to winter alone. Ayla stood at the edge of the Veilwood border, her cloak brushing softly against fallen leaves, her breathing steady but her thoughts anything but calm.The prophecy lingered.Not as fear.As weight.She could feel the eyes of the pack on her, even when they pretended