Rosa walked through the gates of the neighboring pack with slow, steady steps. Her body still felt weak, but her eyes held a cold, sharp fire. The guards who opened the gates for her kept staring like they weren’t sure if she was real.

She ignored them.

She kept walking.

Her black hair was messy from the harsh journey, her dress torn from the fight at the execution ground, and soot from the flames still marked her skin. But Rosa carried herself like someone who refused to break.

When she ...