ARDEN’S POV

The moon was half-buried behind a bank of restless clouds, and the pack house had finally fallen quiet. From the open balcony outside my room, I could hear the sigh of wind moving through the pines—steady, familiar, yet heavy with something that didn’t belong.

Her scent.

Lira.

It clung to the air like smoke after a fire—sweet, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. I had avoided her since her sudden appearance that morning, pretending she didn’t exist while my ...