Bella’s POV

The dawn broke red.

Not the soft red of sunrise, but the sharp, burning hue of a wound. The air itself smelled of iron and smoke. Bella woke to silence—the kind that doesn’t belong to morning, but to the moment before the world decides whether to shatter or hold its breath.

The other side of the bed was cold.

Alfred was gone.

She sat up slowly, her pulse already racing, her body heavy with exhaustion and something deeper—the faint ache of the ...