The Alpha’s Moonbreather
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They don’t see the girl who used to laugh, who brought herbs for their sick, who gave bread to the orphans.
She forced herself to look again. Elise had reached the platform’s base—the place where she’d be kept before the final judgment. Her hair, once soft and auburn, clung to her face in matted strands. Her sea-green eyes were dulled but not empty. Not yet.
“Move,” a guard snapped, shoving her forward.
Elise stumbled, fell to her knees, and stayed there for a heartbeat. Her chest heaved, and for a moment she looked up—not at the crowd, not at the guards, but at the balcony above.
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