Scarlett’s POV

The ancestral stone is quiet when I leave it. That unsettles me more than when it hums or burns or sings in my blood. Silence, after everything it has shown me, feels deliberate—like a held breath.

I walk away from the clearing with my cloak pulled tight around my shoulders, the morning air cool against my skin. The pack is awake now. Wolves pass me with respectful nods, unaware of the weight pressing behind my ribs. They smell like iron and pine and normalcy. Training rings ...