The wind in the valley carried the scent of rain and blood. The ritual was over, but its echo still lived in Bella’s bones. Every breath hurt; every heartbeat throbbed like it was being carved into her chest. The Grove had demanded more than she ever imagined—and now she was left to count the cost.

She sat on the porch outside the healer’s lodge, a blanket draped over her shoulders. The moon hung low and swollen, its light spilling across the clearing like a silent witness. Alfred stood ...