After supper, the house falls quiet. I climb the stairs to check on the boys, finding them curled together in bed like pups, breathing softly. I linger in their doorway, each inhale a reminder of what I’m protecting, each exhale a whisper of what I’ve lost.
Vincent’s eyes flash in my mind—sharp, searching, cutting through the crowd. Did he see himself in them as clearly as I did? If he did, how long before the pack, the council, the whole damn world knows?
I shut their door and head to my room, the silence heavy as a storm cloud. I light the lamp and stand before the mirror. My reflection stares back—pale, exhausted, lips pressed thin from years of swallowing truths. My hand lifts, brushing aside my hair.
There it is. The bond scar. Faded but stubborn, glowing faintly in the lamplight l
