Killian’s POV

The truth arrives in its own way.

It comes for me in the deepest hour of the night, when the pack sleeps and the walls of the stronghold feel too tight around my chest. When my wolf is restless, pacing, claws scraping against the inside of my skin like it knows something I don’t—like it’s already afraid.

I stand in the underground chamber beneath the packhouse, the air cold and old, thick with the scent of stone and history. Torches line the walls, their flames ...