Moonbound Heart

Elara Wynn learned early that silence kept her safe.

Not the soft silence of snowfall or the hush of a sleeping village—but the kind that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed, reminding you that curiosity had consequences.

In the village of Thornmere, questions were dangerous.

Especially if they were about magic.

Elara stood on the riverbank, her bare feet sinking into the cool mud as moonlight shimmered across the water like broken glass. It always felt stronger here. Closer. As if something beneath the river knew her name.

She pressed her fingers to the faint silver scar on her wrist — a mark she'd had for as long as she could remember. No one knew where it came from. No one dared ask.

Except her.

Tonight, something was different.