The night doesn’t wake Ember.
It waits for her.
She realizes this only after her eyes open and she finds herself staring at the ceiling of her room, breath already shallow, heart already racing—as if some part of her had been pulled from sleep before her mind caught up.
The moonlight spills through the tall window in pale ribbons, painting the stone walls silver. Everything looks the same. Smells the same. Sounds the same.
Yet her wolf is awake.
Vespera shifts beneath Ember’s skin, restless in a way that has nothing to do with hunger or the need to run. It’s a slow, coiling tension—like heat pressed too close to bone.
Something is wrong, Vespera murmurs.
Ember swallows and pushes herself upright, sheets whispering around her legs. She waits for the familiar sensations to settle: the
