The territory began speaking to me in the third week after the Keeper's meeting.
It started as pressure behind my eyes when I walked the lower corridors. A dense, sour weight that pressed against my sternum before the east wing even came into view. My steps slowed. The air tasted metallic, heavy with months of unhealed fractures.
The land remembered everyone.
On the outer wall, the wind carried a different message. Sections of the boundary pulled at me like overstrung wire—taut, vibrating, working beyond their design. My wolf pressed close inside my chest, alert but silent. I let the sensation wash through without naming it yet. The gaps revealed themselves: frayed threads, old Suppressions, places where pain had been pressed down instead of released.
I kept the knowledge to myself fo
