The night trembles with silence.
The battlefield lies in ruin — smoke curling, ash glowing like dying stars.
McKenna’s chest rises weakly where she lies in Azeo’s arms, her skin glimmering faintly beneath the blood and dust. For one harrowing moment, the world stills — and then, she breathes.
The air cracks. A pulse of light bursts from her heart, searing through the darkness. The bond between them snaps back into place — weaker, but alive.
Azeo’s hands shake. “McKenna… little wolf…” His voice breaks on the edge of her name. “Don’t you dare leave me again.”
Her eyes open — no longer the red of borrowed power, nor the gold of her wolf — but a stormy violet, shifting like a bruise across the sky. Power hums beneath her skin. Ancient. Foreign. Beautiful.
McKayla stands nearby, her hands
