LOGINCaden's POV
The river is behind us, but the cold? That’s still here.
Maya trips over a root, manages to catch herself, and keeps moving. Her teeth are chattering, just like mine. The water took all our warmth, leaving us shivering.
"Keep going."
"Shut up," she snaps, her voice shaking.
We push through the trees, away from the river, away from those rogues. I have no idea if they’re on our trail, and I’m not about to look back.
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
Selena's POVThe morning light struggles to seep through the heavy curtains, casting a pale, watery glow in the room. I’m settled on the couch with Asher in my lap, his small fingers gripping my locket. He’s been trying to chew on it for what feels like ages, and I keep gently steering him away. Lydia is on Greta's lap, fascinated by the old woman's crinkled face, patting it with both hands.Damian is next to me, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch with his hand resting on my hip. He’s been strangely quiet this morning, just observing and listening.Greta sits on the edge of the bed, a small jar of herbs beside her. Her expression is serious.“I heard something last night,” she says quietly. “After you both fell asleep.”I shift Asher to my other arm and ask, “What do you mean?”Greta recounts what she heard: the half-open door, a whisper—a woman’s v
Greta's POVThe night is chilly. Moonlight streams through the curtains—thin and silver—collecting on the large bed where Lily sleeps. Her dark hair sprawls across the pillow, her lips parted, and her small hands curled into little fists. She looks so peaceful. So innocent. She has no idea about the darkness lurking just beyond the shadows.I’m standing by the window, arms crossed, staring into space.‘What’s happening to Sera?’I’ve seen sickness before. I’ve seen injuries that should have taken lives, curses that should have remained, poisons that should have eaten away at organs like acid. I’ve witnessed the worst the world has to throw at us. But this… this is something else entirely.A body that won’t heal. Not just from ordinary wounds—but not even from the most powerful healing gift I’ve ever seen. Selena’s gift is stronger than any I’ve
Selena's POVThe room is filled with the smell of sickness and herbs.It’s not that sharp, clean scent of a fresh wound or the sour tang of an infection. No, it’s something deeper, something older. It’s the odor of a body that seems to have forgotten how to live but just won’t let go.I stand next to Sera’s bed, my hands clasped in front of me, letting the silence linger. Gracia is near the headboard, gripping the carved wood so tightly his knuckles are white. By the window stands Tristan, with his wife Basilia beside him, gently bouncing Asher on her hip. You can tell she’s Basil’s daughter—there’s a calmness about her, and the way she holds my son is like he’s delicate porcelain.Beth and Rina hang back by the door. Rina’s unusually silent, her hands folded in front of her, her gaze glued to the woman lying in the bed. Beth clutches a satchel of herbs that Greta brought from
Maya's POVThe ceiling is white. Flat, blank, accusatory. I've stared at it for hours, maybe days. Time bleeds into a single gray stretch. Curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. The only light is a thin yellow line beneath the door. The world outside moves, breathes, lives. I wish it would stop.I'm a tight coil on the bed—knees to chest, arms around shins, wearing Caden's old t-shirt, soft and threadbare, smelling of pine and rain. I haven't eaten. I haven't slept, just fitful dozes where dreams are worse than waking. I haven't spoken since the convoy left for Ironhold.The Mate Ceremony plays behind my eyes on a relentless, torturous loop. Standing across from Caden in the moon-drenched clearing, hands clasped. The expectant hush. Hopeful faces in torchlight. Lora's ancient words. The breathless pause as we waited for the spark, the scent-change, the pull.Nothing.No spark. No scent. No pull. The verdict, unspoken bu
Maya's POVThe pack house is buzzing with energy.Music flows from the open doors, fiddles and drums creating a lively atmosphere, with voices raised in joyful song. Lanterns dangle from every beam, casting a warm glow on faces that have been shrouded in darkness for t
Damian's POVThe silver felt like a live coal buried in my shoulder, sending searing pain down my arm with every breath. Viktor had clearly aimed for the old scar—he remembered. I bit down hard, tasting blood mixed with rain. 'Just ignore it. You've faced worse.'
Damian's POVThe eastern field looks like a graveyard.There are bodies everywhere—blood, broken swords. This morning, Viktor's forces pushed hard, trying to break through the Silvermoon line. We managed to hold them off, just barely. Now he stands in the middle
Selena's POVThe Silvermoon border medical clinic stands like a stronghold made of stone and glass.It was built long before the war, before Elena, and long before any of us had a clue about what lay ahead. The place has running water, electricity, a generator, and eno







