Author's POV

Logan stood by the arched window of the east wing, watching the soft movement of the trees swaying beneath the silvery moon. It was quiet — unnervingly quiet — the kind of silence that screamed beneath the surface. He clenched his jaw, the memory of Freya's last words haunting him like a curse.

“I’m done,” she had said.

Those two words, cold and final, struck deeper than any blade ever could.

He had tried — in his own Alpha way — to reach her. He had approached ...