"They're getting away! Get them!"
The shout tore through the air like a whip, harsh and commanding.
There were men yelling—dozens of them, maybe more. Their voices bounced against unseen stone, echoing with fury and desperation.
Boots pounded. Snarls rose. The clamor of pursuit surrounded her, but Luna couldn't move. She wasn't even sure she had a body. She was floating—disembodied, weightless—trapped in a memory that didn't feel quite hers, but was.
'What is this…?'
She was seeing through someone else's eyes. Hearing through their ears. Feeling their fear as her own.
"What do we do… what do we do? I-I can't transform… not while carrying her."
A woman's voice—urgent, breathless, trembling with panic. They were riding something. Fast. Heavy. She could feel the jarring rhythm of galloping, and hear the wind slashing past them, wild with the scent of blood and smoke.
"I have to lure them off."
