Chapter 170

Celine

A month had passed since the frostbloom incident in the Eastern Pines.

The Northwood mornings had grown colder, frost lingering longer in the hollows of the trees, turning the forest into a crystalline labyrinth. Even at dawn, the air held a bite sharp enough to make my breath puff in small clouds. I had grown accustomed to it, but it was a reminder: time moves forward whether we are ready