The night after the trial settled over the pack lands like a shroud. The courtyard had been cleaned, but the memory of the fight still clung to the air—an echo of roars, gasps, and the metallic scent of blood.

Bella lay in Alfred’s chamber, wrapped in heavy blankets that did little to stop her trembling. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could hurt, and her mind was a storm of fragments. The flash of Lydia’s claws. The heat of Alfred’s voice commanding order. The golden flicker ...