Dawn did not arrive gently.
It crept in low and gray, filtered through a sky bruised with the aftermath of power that had not fully spent itself. The forest no longer hummed, yet it felt wrong in its stillness—like a held breath that refused to release.
River woke first.
He lay half-sitting against the base of an ancient oak, one arm curved protectively around Evelyn. She slept fitfully against his chest, her brow furrowed, lashes trembling as if even rest demanded a toll. Every few minutes her fingers twitched, grasping at nothing.
He did not move.
The wolf inside him paced, restless, ears pricked toward the ruins where the monolith stood dark and cracked, its once-burning presence reduced to cold stone. Reduced—but not gone.
Lyra stirred nearby, rising from where she had kept watch through the night. Blood had dried beneath her nose, leaving a thin rust-colored crescent. She wiped it away absently, eyes never leaving Evelyn.
"She's dreaming," Lyra said quietly.
