Luara watched the landscape through the car window as the vehicle drove along the narrow road leading back to her parents' house. The lights of the pack house disappeared behind her, and the calm expression on her face did not match the turmoil pulsing inside. The reflection in the glass showed a discreet, cold, satisfied smile—the kind of smile that did not come from joy, but from purpose.

Her mother, sitting next to her, glanced at her from time to time, trying to decipher that ...