Nevara
The air shifted long before the scenery did.
You don’t notice it unless you’ve lived on both sides of something. The city thinned behind us, steel and structured streets dissolving into open land and dense pine. Pavement softened into gravel, then dirt. The smell of asphalt gave way to damp soil and sap.
Noah was the first to quiet.
He had been talking almost nonstop since we left the castle—about forts, about wolves versus Lycans in sprint speed, about how he was going to show Jonas the training field. Then, as the tree line thickened, he leaned toward the window and went still.
“This smells like home,” he said softly.
Thoren’s gaze met his in the rearview mirror. “Yes,” he answered simply.
Jonas wrinkled his nose. “It smells like trees.”
“It smells like wet trees,” Noah co
