Chapter 7

EVANGELINE POINT OF VIEW 

Friday morning arrives like a funeral march. Each step toward school feels heavier than the last. The binding stone's grip on me has tightened overnight. My wolf is barely a whisper now, so faint I wonder if I imagined her voice.

But I force myself to keep walking. Keep breathing. Keep existing.

The hallways blur past me in streams of color and noise. Students laugh and shout and live their normal lives while I float through like a ...