Chapter 229

*Elora*

The sound came first.

Not claws, not teeth, not the guttural growl of wolves that had forgotten how to be wolves. It was softer, stranger—like breath pulled through hollow reeds. A whistle threaded with grief, not rage. My skin prickled, every hair along my arms rising as the wind carried it closer.

We were outside the eastern wall when the scouts dragged them in—four Void-Cursed, bound in