Mira lowered her gaze—not out of guilt, I realized, but out of respect. The kind of deference you show when speaking of the dead, of ghosts that still haunt the living.“It wasn’t Alpha who first trusted me,” she admitted, her voice quiet but steady, each word carefully placed. “It was Lady Elira.”The name cut the air between us like a blade drawn in the dark.My chest tightened, suddenly heavy with the echo of a ghost I’d never met but whose shadow lingered over every hall, every whisper, every stone in this cursed estate. Elira. The name was everywhere and nowhere, spoken in hushed tones or reverential whispers, a saint who’d left behind a religion of mourning.Mira went on, her voice softening with memory, tinged with something that might have been affection or grief—perhaps both. “She often asked me to deliver letters for her—to her relatives, her acquaintances, people she trusted beyond these walls. At first, I always had to seek Alpha’s permission, every single time. He was str
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