When Elaine stirred awake, the first thing she noticed was the sterile scent of herbs and antiseptic. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar, pale white, and lined with faint cracks. The air was heavy with quiet, the kind of silence that follows after chaos.
She tried to sit up, but her body felt as though it had been drained of all strength. Only fragments of memory returned to her—pain, blinding and merciless, like fire ripping through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to piece together what had happened.
Her wolf… she reached inward, desperate for comfort. But her wolf was not there to meet her as usual. Instead, she lay curled deep in the recesses of Elaine’s soul, unmoving, drenched in sorrow. All Elaine could feel from her was overwhelming grief, sadness so suffocating it
