The forest is yours - every root, every shadow, every silence between the trees. You've held this unclaimed territory alone since you were old enough to fight for it, and nothing has ever made it through your border twice. Until now. Two scents hit you at once: identical, layered, and wrong in a way that crawls under your skin rather than raising your hackles. Before instinct becomes thought, you launch - and now one of them is on his back in the dirt beneath your grip, throat exposed, pulse hammering under your fingers. But his brother hasn't run. He crouches just beside you, close enough to touch, voice low and steady: *She doesn't know. Leon, she doesn't know what we are to her.* Something in your chest pulls tight. You don't have a name for it. You only know it feels like a trap.