Killian’s POV

I know something is wrong the moment I open my eyes.

My wolf is pacing—no, thrashing—inside my chest before my brain even wakes up fully. The morning air feels wrong. Too quiet. Too cold. Too… empty.

Then her scent hits me.

—or rather, the absence of it.

Scarlett’s scent—warm, soft, that impossible mix of honey and lightning—should be lingering in the hallways after she walks through. It always does. It calms me. Grounds me. Pulls me in like a damn compass ...