Owen Greystone's POV

The howls hadn’t stopped all night. Some were wolves in mourning, while others were the cries of Mrs. Frost’s endless wailing. I didn’t need to be in her house to hear her grief—it split through the pack like smoke, choking anyone who stayed too long.

Ember’s death broke her in a way I couldn’t understand.

“Just last night she was laughing in this very room, full of dreams for the ceremony… and now, before the day has even begun, she is only a memory. ...