POV: Alpha Jackson Reynolds
The air changed the moment we crossed the fifteen-mile marker. It wasn’t just the drop in temperature that usually accompanied the rising elevation of the Blackwood range; it was a shift in the very fabric of the atmosphere. The scent of fresh-turned earth and diesel exhaust from our paving crews began to lose its battle against an ancient, heavy musk—the smell of damp moss, old stone, and a silence that felt intentional.
We had reached the edge of the Whispering Pines.
I stood at the head of the column, my hand resting on the hood of the lead surveyor vehicle. Beside me, Amethyst was silent, her purple eyes fixed on the treeline ahead. The pines here weren't like the ones in the Diamond Moon or even the Wildfire territories. They were colossal, their trunks
