Chapter 2
My hackles raise as my back arches, and I howl again at the red moon: the largest one I’ve seen in years.
My life is measured in them.
This year’s third quarter brings one in August. At the top of its arc, a sliver of orange fades to white—almost like the moon is being drained of its blood. Like it could die, if it was even alive in the first place.
There’s a change in the air, something sweet. I can smell it on the wind that carries between the spikes of the Wall before it twists through the woods.
I want to get in. Need to get in. Like it’s encoded in every atom humming through me. The white-hot rage that crosses my vision never ceases, but the blood moon only intensifies it.
I will stop at nothing. Otherwise…
No.
Time is running out, but that Wall will come down.