Hope's POV.The silence is deafening.It presses in from every side, thick and heavy, like the mist curling outside the windows. My ears ring from the absence of sound — not even the whimper of pain or the shuffle of footsteps. Only the slow, unbearable echo of my heartbeat, thudding in my chest like a drum of mourning.My head hangs between my knees. My hands tremble. They’re slick with blood.I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here.There’s something under my fingernails. Something sticky, dark, and wrong. My arms, my clothes, my hair — all of it smells like iron and bile and death. The stench clings to me, seeps into my bones. I think I might vomit again, but there’s nothing left to bring up.My breath hitches. My heart aches.My senses are on fire — too sharp, too loud. I can hear every creak in the wooden floor, every snap of a branch outside. But still… it’s so quiet. No crying. No howling. Just this… silence.I try to think, to focus on something. Anything. But there’s not
Emory's POV.The cold air whips past me as I sprint down the winding path toward the medical center, my lungs burning, my legs aching, but I don’t dare slow down. My breath comes in sharp bursts, clouding the mist that’s slowly curling its way back over Black Hollow like a curse.Lucian is right behind me — I can hear his footsteps pounding against the earth, steady and strong. A constant I don’t deserve right now.Faster, Emory. You have to move faster.Hope is back there. They’re all back there. Writhing. Vomiting. Dying.I burst through the door of the medical center with trembling hands and throw myself toward the lab, fumbling with the keypad. The moment the lock clicks open, I shove the door wide and head for the back counter where I keep the ingredients.Lucian closes the door behind us gently, but I don’t look at him. I can’t. Not now.Everything inside me is buzzing — a storm of panic and desperation just under the surface. My hands tremble as I reach for vials and tinctures,
Hope's POV.Branches whip against my arms and legs, but I barely feel them. My lungs burn. My heart is a drumbeat of fear in my chest. Emory is just behind me, and Morgana leads the way like a woman possessed, tripping over roots, stumbling, gasping — but she doesn’t stop. None of us do.Not when her voice cracks with fear. Not when dread coils tighter and tighter around my ribs with every step. Because something is wrong. Deeply wrong. And the closer we get, the more I feel it — like a sickness in the air, clinging to the wind, seeping into the ground.When the trees finally part and the pack house comes into view, I think — No. No, this isn’t real. This can’t be real.But it is.Bodies lie scattered across the grass — wolves I know, wolves I love. Velara is slumped against the porch, her usually regal form trembling. One of the pups is curled in a tight ball beside her, whimpering softly. I spot Vladimir near the steps, doubled over and clutching his side, blood dripping from his mo
Hope's POV.The forest is quiet.I sit on the edge of the pack’s territory, where the trees thin and the wind hums gently between the branches. The sun has long since dipped behind the clouds again, casting Black Hollow back into its familiar gray. But somehow, the mist doesn’t feel as heavy as it used to.Maybe it’s me who’s changed.The truth has settled over me like new skin, still raw in places, still strange — but no longer foreign.I'm a werewolf. The thought no longer sends me reeling. It grounds me.Not just someone who runs with wolves. Not just a human girl tolerated in a world she was never truly meant to be part of.I am one of them. I always was.For the first time since the truth unraveled, I’m alone. And I don’t feel lost. Something inside me is shifting. Not violently, not with chaos or pain, but with a soft, steady pulse. Like the slow blooming of something ancient and familiar.My wolf.She’s there. I can feel her, curled deep in my chest like a heartbeat that’s alwa
Velara's POV.The sky has turned to ash again.Mist clings to the forest like an old sadness, curling through the branches and draping the earth in silver threads of quiet. Rain falls softly — not heavy enough to wash anything clean, but just enough to make the world feel damp and heavy.I sit by the window, my fingers curled around a warm cup of tea that’s long since gone cold. I don’t bother reheating it. Some things are meant to be held, not fixed.Yesterday feels like a dream now.A rare, radiant day. The sun broke through the veil of gray that usually hangs over Black Hollow like a shroud, and we all came alive in it. Laughter, running feet, shifting fur and playful snarls. Children chasing butterflies. Mates stealing kisses. For a brief, golden sliver of time, the world was kind.Before Malachai stepped out of the trees.Before the blade and the blood. Before Sarah’s scream. Before Hope’s heartbreak.Before it all went to hell — again.“Penny for your thoughts?” a voice says sof
Malakar's POV.The sky has returned to its usual gray, a thick blanket of mist stretching over the world like the exhale of some ancient beast. The sunlight from the day before feels like a dream now — brief and fleeting. It's the kind of morning that mutes everything — the sounds, the colors, the worries.But none of that matters. Not right now. Because in this stillness, she is here.Hope.She lies beside me, her body curled beneath the blankets, face half-buried in the pillow. Her lashes resting like feathers against her cheeks.Her breathing is soft, steady. The tension that so often clings to her shoulders, that lingers behind her eyes, has melted away in sleep — leaving only peace. For once, she looks unburdened. Untouched by grief or prophecy. Just… whole. Peaceful in a way I haven’t seen from her in... maybe ever.And now I understand why.She’s one of us. Not just in the way she’s always fought for us. Not just in the quiet strength that makes her impossible to ignore. But tru