Kael was restless. Something gnawed at him deep in his chest, clawing and twisting like a wild animal desperate to escape. It wasn't just the looming threat of Marcus's army marching toward them—no, it was something else. Something that felt more like fear than anything else. A primal warning, tugging at his instincts in ways he couldn't ignore.
He glanced over at Ronan, who was crouched beside a large rock, sharpening his claws with a practiced ease. His face was calm, but Kael could feel the tension in the air between them. Ronan's instincts were always sharp, and Kael could sense his unease, too. Still, it didn't stop him from speaking the words that had been on his mind for what felt like hours.
"I need to run."
Ronan didn't even look up at first. His claws scraped against the rock, grinding and sharpening as if it was a soothing ritual. But then, his head snapped up, meeting Kael's gaze.
