Missing Hearts

The air in the mystical realm was thick with the scent of blood. It clung to the trees, soaked into the earth, and left a lingering weight on the wind. The bodies were laid out in a grim display—ripped apart, their flesh torn, but it wasn’t the gruesome sight that sent a chill through Killian’s spine.

It was the fact that their hearts were missing.

Killian crouched beside one of the bodies, his sharp gaze sweeping over the wounds. They were precise, deliberate. Whatever had done this hadn’t just been out for blood—it had taken something specific.

“This wasn’t a rogue attack,” Caden muttered, standing beside him, arms crossed. His jaw was clenched, his stance tense. “We don’t know of any rogues that do this.”