SERAPHINA’S POV
If this had happened two months ago—before the Moonlit Spring and Moon Dew Nectar, before I ever set foot in the Starlight Hallway—I would have brushed off the feeling without a second thought.
Fatigue. Nerves. Projection.
I would have taken a steady breath, told myself I was reaching for aning where there was none, and let the mont pass.
But I was no longer that version of myself.
The instant the energy rippled through —sharp, discordant, wrong—I knew it wasn’t imagination.
It didn’t co as a thought or a flicker of fear. It pressed in like a change in atmospheric pressure, like the mont before a storm breaks when the air tightens and every instinct screams to run.
I went still, beer sweating in my grip, the tab crumpled beneath my thumb.
Alina stirred, not alard, but alert. Watchful.
“Gear,” I said quietly. “Stop the vehicle.”
He glanced to the side, brows creasing. “What?”
“Stop,” I repeated, louder now. “Sothing’s wrong.”
The engine’s hum didn’t falter.
“Sera,” he said, easing his hands tighter around the wheel, “my diagnostics are clean. No fluctuations. No external interference.”
Wren leaned forward from the back seat. “This stretch was tagged green. I ran it twice earlier today.”
I swallowed hard and forced myself to focus, letting my senses stretch outward rather than curl inward in fear.
The sensation didn’t fade.
It intensified.
It wasn’t coming from the vehicle. Not from the crates. Not from the land beneath the road.
It was ahead.
“I know what your equipnt says,” I replied, forcing my voice steady, “and I know what Wren saw. But I know what I feel. Sothing is wrong.”
“We don’t have the luxury of vibes,” Wren said, not unkindly, but firm. “People are dying in the quarantine zone. Every hour counts.”
“I’m not asking for an hour,” I said. “I’m asking you to slow down for a second.”
Gear exhaled through his nose. “Sera, we can’t just stop because you have a bad feeling—”
“Slow down,” I cut in, sharper now.
The words weren’t a command, but they carried weight anyway.
The engine dipped a fraction.
I closed my eyes and centered myself, applying ditation techniques Ilsa had drilled into in the Moon Hall. Not pushing outward, not pulling inward, just listening.
Except this ti...I could actually feel sothing.
The energy around us felt distorted, bent like light through warped glass. There was a hollowness layered over it, a deliberate absence where sothing should have been.
As the van rolled forward, the pressure in my chest climbed, coiling tighter and tighter.
“It’s getting stronger,” I said. “Whatever it is, we’re moving toward it.”
Gear swore under his breath and flicked on the internal comms. “Iris, waking you.”
Monts later, Iris’ voice ca through from the back of the van, sharp, despite the fact that she’d been asleep monts ago. “Report.”
“Sera’s sensing sothing ahead,” Gear said. “No confirmation on instrunts.”
There was a brief pause.
Iris appeared monts later, moving up from the rear bench, jacket half-zipped, eyes already alert. Codex followed, tablet in hand, glasses slightly askew.
“What do you feel?” Iris asked directly.
“There’s sothing wrong.” I knew I sounded like a broken record, but I didn’t yet have the words to articulate what I felt.
She arched a brow. “That’s a wide net.”
“I know,” I said. “I...I can’t really explain it. I just know...we’re driving into so sort of danger.”
Iris studied for a mont longer before turning to Wren. “Scout ahead.”
A violent flash tore through my mind—a vision so sharp and visceral it made my stomach lurch.
“No!”
Every head snapped toward .
Wren sighed. “What now?”
The vision clung to the edges of my mind, sour bile burning the back of my throat.
Wren’s body crushed beneath stone. Her blood on black pavent. Her hand reaching, trembling—then stilling altogether.
I forced myself to et Wren’s gaze—brown, alive, nothing like the empty, glassy stare from my vision.
“You go out there,” I whispered, the words tasting like iron, “you’re not coming back. You’ll die.”
Wren stared at , her easy confidence flickering for the first ti since I’d t her. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Iris’ jaw tightened. “What, you’re seeing visions now?”
I sighed. “It’s like...an impression. If Wren goes ahead alone, she dies.”
“An impression,” Iris echoed. “So basically, a glorified hunch.”
“I know,” I said, frustration burning behind my ribs. “I know how it sounds. This is all new, and I don’t even understand it myself.”
She swore under her breath. “You’re delaying us, and you don’t even—”
Codex cleared his throat. “Actually...”
Iris shot him a look. “Codex.”
“I saw sothing,” he said quietly.
Her gaze sharpened. “Saw what?”
He adjusted his glasses, eyes flicking briefly to . “Flickers. Moonlight-spectrum interference. Around Sera.”
My breath caught.
Codex continued, warming as he spoke. “It’s subtle. More like...latent bleed-through. Psychic-adjacent.”
Iris looked back at slowly, reassessing.
“High-ranking wolves sotis manifest limited psychic control,” she said. “Usually, pack-bound. Within the limits of territory.”
Her gaze slid over , clinical. “Outside-pack sensitivity is rare. Predictive perception even more so.”
I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to shrink beneath the scrutiny.
“I don’t know about all that,” I said tightly. “And I’m not trying to undermine your authority. I’m trying to keep you guys alive.”
Before Iris could respond, the ground roared.
A deep, grinding crack split the air ahead of us.
“Rockfall!” Gear shouted.
Boulders tore free from the cliffside, massive slabs of stone tumbling down toward the road in a thunderous cascade. Dust exploded outward, choking the air as debris slamd into asphalt.
The first boulder missed us by inches.
The second clipped the rear panel with a tallic scream, sending the van lurching before Gear wrestled it back under control.
He slamd the brakes, yanked the wheel, and threw us into a sideways swerve so violent it sent our bodies crashing against our restraints and the weapon crates sliding in their locks.
The vehicle fishtailed, skidding across gravel, tal grinding as sparks spat from beneath the chassis.
“Hold, hold, hold!” Gear snarled through gritted teeth.
We stopped only when the rear slamd into a ridge wall, rattling my bones.
Silence followed—thick, ringing, broken only by the hiss of steaming tal and distant echoes of falling stone.
Gear’s hands stayed locked on the wheel. “Everyone alive?”
A chorus of confirmations followed.
Iris exhaled slowly. “Damage report.”
“Rear suspension’s hit,” Gear said, already scanning diagnostics. “Front axle’s bent. Cooling system’s cracked. Not catastrophic, but we’re deadweight until I run a full patch job.”
He reached for the door handle.
Every muscle in my body went rigid. “Don’t!”
This ti, there was no objection; everyone froze.
“There’s sothing outside,” I added, “waiting.”
The pressure hadn’t dissipated. If anything, it had sharpened—focused now, honed by proximity.
Iris froze. “You’re saying there’s more?”
“I’m saying the rockfall was the distraction,” I replied, my pulse thundering. “The ambush is what cos next.”
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