Mag-log inSelena's POV
Hours have passed since the war council wrapped up, but the maps still lie scattered across the table, weighed down by stones and marked with arrows and X's. Damian hasn't budged from his seat. He’s been staring at a particular spot on the map for what feels like twenty minutes.
I watch him from the doorway. The fire’s almost out, and the room is dim except for the flickering candlelight. He looks worn out, older than he actually is.
Gracia's POVThe basement was colder than usual. Not just the damp stone, but the silence. It had a different texture after a death—thick, heavy with ghosts of voices that would never speak again.I sat in the corner, Ivy’s head on my shoulder. Her tears had soaked through my shirt. She’d been crying since she learned about Jorden’s death, quiet shuddering waves that had subsided into hollow, trembling exhaustion.I stared at the empty space where Jorden used to sit. Hours ago, he’d been there. Breathing. Talking. Hoping. The space where Leo and Cyr used to sleep. The space where fragile hope had tried to put down roots.Now they were all dead.The watchkeeper had laughed when he kicked Jorden’s body over. I could still hear that sharp bark of amusement. I could still see the dark bloom spreading across fallen leaves. He’d dragged Jorden away like a sack of grain, the laugh fading into the tre
Gracia's POVMonths passed.The three of us remained in the basement, hollow shells of who we used to be. Ivy and I stayed in our corner, away from Jorden. We couldn't speak to him. Every time I looked at him, I saw Leo and Cyr's faces. I heard their screams. I felt the weight of their absence pressing down on my chest.Jorden was more hollow than both of us combined. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He just sat in his corner, staring at nothing, his eyes empty. The guilt had consumed him from the inside out. He was a ghost wearing a living body.Ivy stayed close to me. She was terrified of Jorden now, and she didn't want to be alone with him. I understood. I kept her close, my arm around her, shielding her from the world. I knew Jorden would never hurt her. I knew he was broken beyond repair. But Ivy's fear was real, and I would do anything to protect her.Ivy had changed since Leo and Cyr died. She had developed PTSD. She had nightma
Gracia's POVThe world stopped."Jorden killed them." The words came out hollow, distant, like they belonged to someone else. I cupped Ivy's face, my hands trembling. "Ivy, explain to me properly. They can't just… they won't die like this."Ivy shook her head, her sobs wracking her small frame. She couldn't speak. Her words came out in broken fragments between hiccups."Jorden… he stole a cake. From the Alpha's room. It was for his children."I stared at her. "A cake?""A birthday cake. For the Alpha's youngest. I saw him… I saw Jorden putting something under Leo and Cyr's things. When I asked what he was doing, he said it was nothing. He told me to mind my own business." Her voice cracked. "I should have known. I should have said something."My heart pounded against my ribs. "What happened next?"Ivy wiped her face with shaking hands. "A maid said she saw one of the slaves le
Gracia's POVThe basement was a tomb.It was long and narrow, carved from cold stone, with a single small window near the ceiling. Iron bars crossed it, letting in slivers of gray light and the shadows of feet passing by above. Those feet belonged to free wolves. Wolves who had never known what it was like to sleep on damp stone, to wear chains that bit into your wrists, to wake every morning knowing that today would be your last day.I learned the rhythm of this place quickly. Wake. Get beaten. Eat. Work. Be beaten. Sleep. Repeat.The days blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last. The only markers were the wounds—fresh ones layered over old ones, pain that never fully faded. I stopped counting the days. I stopped counting the lashes. I stopped counting the reasons to keep breathing.Castor was a monster.He beat us because his coffee gets cold. He beat us because he imagined his brother was looking down
Gracia's POVI was born in the Sunscorched Territories, on the antipodean side of the world where the sun burned too hot and the earth was too dry. The pack was called The Obsidian Claw—a name that meant nothing to anyone outside its borders. To me, it meant everything. It meant the place where I learned to bleed.My mother was a maid. Her name was Anisa. She had soft hands and a broken smile. She scrubbed floors and washed linens and bore the weight of an Alpha's attention without ever asking for it. My father was the Alpha. He never acknowledged me. He never had to.I remembered her hands most of all. They were always raw, always bleeding, always moving. She would hold me in the corner of the servants' quarters, her body blocking the door, her voice barely a whisper."Don't make a sound, my little one. Don't make a sound. They'll take you away if they hear you."I was four years old. I didn't understand what she meant. I only
Damian's POVThe morning air is fresh, filled with the scent of dew and distant pines. I spot Gracia in the courtyard, sitting on a stone bench that faces the training grounds. His coffee sits in his hands, untouched and cooling down. His gaze is on the warriors below, but I can tell he’s not really seeing them.I take a seat next to him. "We need to stop giving Luna that herbal tea."He slowly turns to me, his brow furrowing. "Why?"I’ve rehearsed this lie, and it feels heavy as I say it. "The herbs and meds… they’re doing the opposite of their intended purpose. They’re causing her more pain and weakening her instead of helping. Just to clear It’s nobody’s fault, Gracia. Her condition is unique. What helps others just harms her."His expression crumbles. The hope I saw yesterday flickers and fades away. "I—I didn’t know. I thought…" He puts down his coffee and presse
Caden's POVThe bonfire in the central square roared high enough to lick the night sky, sparks swirling with laughter and the thumping bass from a portable speaker. The entire pack of Silverhold was there—dancing, drinking, celebrating.I stood at the edge of the
Selena's POVThe morning light filters softly through the curtains.I'm propped up in bed, cradling the babies—Asher on my left, Lydia on my right. They're sleeping soundly, their little faces serene, lips pursed. Honestly, I could watch them forever.Sudd
Maya's POVThe pack house is calm.Not the kind of quiet filled with fear or sorrow, but a tranquil silence. Warriors are resting in their beds, and kids are dreaming away in their rooms. Out of nowhere, a floorboard creaks. A door clicks shut.I find myself sta
Selena's POVThe first contraction hits me in the kitchen.I’m reaching for a cup of tea, my belly brushing against the counter, when suddenly, my whole body seizes up. It’s not the dull ache I’ve been feeling for weeks anymore; this is something shar







