Mira’s POV

The convoy entered Blackridge without pause. The guards moved aside in perfect sync, but their precision carried hesitation. The city’s scent hadn’t changed, dominance, expectation, memory. Every sound, every gaze tested me. I didn’t falter. I couldn’t afford to.

The plaza widened ahead. Wolves lined the terraces, pretending to welcome me while waiting for cracks. The banners were gestures, not celebrations. Windermere’s crest drew eyes, not applause. I kept my head high. ...