Chapter 47
Cameron
It starts off like any other day.
Eamon is teaching me the intricacies of scent tracking and territory boundaries. Lenora is watching from a fallen log, legs crossed, biting into a green apple she stole from the kitchen. Her smile tugs at the corner of her mouth every time I stumble or ask something stupid. It's quiet, peaceful—even a little warm.
Then I feel it.
A shift.
The birds stop chirping.
The wind dies down.
And both Eamon and Lenora snap to attention so fast it's almost inhuman. Their bodies go rigid, senses razor-sharp, eyes locked on the tree line like they've just spotted a ghost. I've never seen them like this. Not even when I turned for the first time.
Out from between the trees, a man steps forward. Black pants. Black button-down. Tall. Broad-shouldered. And eerily familiar.
He looks like Eamon. Like someone shaved a decade off and twisted the warmth into steel.
