Gregor’s POVDawn came slow — the kind of gray, shivering light that doesn’t warm you, only reminds you you’re still alive. The storm had passed, but its memory lingered in the trees. The forest breathed around us — damp, heavy with mist, the scent of moss and wet bark thick in the air. Water dripped from the cliffs, trickling into the ravine below where the river still hissed from last night’s flood.Marigold walked ahead of me, her hair still damp, her scent tangled with earth, rain, and something faintly electric — fae magic. She was different now. I could feel it. The forest bent around her, subtle, as if recognizing her presence. She didn’t notice, but I did. The ancient fae’s touch was on her now — her aura sharper, wilder, dangerous in a way that wasn’t purely wolf anymore.Barbie, the ancient fae herself, fluttered beside Marigold’s shoulder, complaining about mud, humidity, and the injustice of morning air. “If I get fungus in my wings,” she said, “I’m suing the weather.”I b
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