The forest held its breath as the swirling vortex sputtered and died, leaving behind only the unsettling scent of ozone. The air crackled with a lingering energy, a stark contrast to the profound silence that descended upon the clearing. The Lockwood pack stood frozen, their gazes fixed on the empty space where the portal had materialized moments before.
Disappointment gnawed at Eleanor's gut. Had the Nightingale Fox abandoned them? Had their decision to enter the Whispering Glades been a colossal mistake?
Just as despair threatened to consume them, a figure emerged from the shadows of the ancient trees. It was the man, the one in the faded police uniform. But something was different. He didn't walk with the same weary gait, and the haunted look in his eyes had been replaced by a steely resolve.
A young man, clad in a rumpled police uniform raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his gaze.
