Chapter 22 – When Fire Hunts.
The beams whispered beneath her weight.
She moved low across the rafters, shadow to shadow, breath held tight against the wood. Morning blurred below her — children's laughter threading with the ring of steel, the rustle of grain sacks carried to market.
Normal.
Too normal.
Her fur prickled along her spine, a tightening sensation coiling beneath her skin—the kind that only came before a storm.
Her nose twitched. Once. Twice.
There it was again — a thread of scent buried beneath the forge smoke and dusted bread. Not rot. Not blood. Fresher than yesterday. Sharper.
Alive.
She pressed herself flatter against the beam, tail coiling tightly against her hip. Her golden eyes narrowed to thin slits, locking on the narrow lane that twisted behind the smithy.
The humans wouldn't notice it. Not the way she did. They saw walls and smoke and chores.
She saw the ripple beneath it.