Rue’s POV

Iris was eight now. It marked survival and growth. Years I had not been certain I would live to witness.

She had my eyes, it was remarkable, always scanning the world as if cataloging it. But her smile was freer than mine had ever been at that age. She laughed easily.

She stood between Percy and me, holding both our hands as we walked toward the car. She spoke animatedly about the newly built school, about a drawing she had made, about how she thought wolves should be majestic in ...