Daigo was already at the door, growling again. She pushed it open. The wildcat walked out, his nose lifted, ears twitching.

She peered around. Darkness had fallen. Complete darkness. It was much later than she’d thought. The day had been so chaotic that they hadn’t eaten dinner until night was falling, and it was well past their usual bedtime now.

“Where are the lights?” she murmured.

She looked up into a gray-black sky, devoid of stars or moon.

Dark and quiet. No, not quiet. Silent. The village was absolutely, utterly silent. When she sucked in breath, the whistle of it startled Daigo.

“Something’s wrong,” she murmured.

He chuffed in agreement. Moria glanced back at the barracks. If there was trouble, Ashyn should stay right where she was. And just because the village was dark didn’t mean anything was wrong. People would have gone to bed, and with half the garrison away, the village was bound to be quiet. She wouldn’t panic Ashyn for nothing.

As she walked along the barracks, the carpenter’s dog, Blackie, howled. A normal sound of night. She exhaled. Then the howl stopped. Midnote. The hair on her neck rose. Daigo growled.

“We’re going home. We’ll speak to Father and make sure everything is all right, then we’ll return for Ashyn.”

Daigo grunted, approving the plan. As they continued on, Moria slowed, rolling her footsteps so she walked as silently as her wildcat. When something moved to the left, she wheeled but saw nothing. Still she stood there, watching the spot until she was certain it’d been a trick of the eye.

A few more steps. Then a low groan sounded to her right. Moria looked over at the village square. She saw only an empty patch of rocky ground with a few precious beds of dirt, fresh turned, seeds planted for summer flowers.

Another groan. She followed the noise to the village hall behind the square. A board had come loose under the eaves and seemed to be groaning in the wind.

As she turned back, a shadow darted across the square. This time, there was no mistaking what she was seeing—a dark shadow twisting and writhing as it skittered across the square.

Shadow stalker.

Her fingers tightened on her blade.

“Begone,” she whispered. “By the power of the ancestors, I command you to leave. You trespass on blessed ground.”

The shadow—smoke, fog, whatever it was—just kept twisting lazily, making its way across the square.

“Spirits,” she whispered. “This is your home. Protect it.”

The spirits didn’t answer. When she went still and focused, she could find no trace of them.

It felt like the forest. Empty and dead. Dark and silent.