Arthur’s POV
The sun had started to rise, but I hadn’t slept.
The fire in my office had burned down to a faint flicker, and the stack of books beside me had doubled since Finn left.
I rubbed my eyes and flipped another page.
Inject energy into the soul tether.
The words stared back at me from a dozen different notes and scraps, repeated in different ways, but none of them made it any clearer.
Energy.
But what kind?
Magic? Blood? Moonlight?
Every theory I had circled back to one truth—she was still here. That had to mean something. Some part of her soul was tethered, still clinging to this world.
I shoved the book aside and grabbed another, this one older, its cover brittle and cracking, with a faded crescent stitched into the spine.
Werewolves had always turned to the Moon Goddess.
We draw power from the moon and its cycles. Our powers were the ancient force of night. Strength, healing, speed, all of it tied to the moon. But not resurrection. That was one thing we were never meant t
