Something was wrong.
Ember didn’t wake from a nightmare—there were no lingering images of blood or shadow, no gasping breath or racing heart. Instead, she woke with a slow, curling unease, the kind that settled into her bones like cold fog and refused to lift.
The room was dim, early morning light filtering through the tall windows of the Bloodstone Pack house. The walls were familiar, comforting even, lined with carved symbols of protection and lineage that had stood for generations.
She had grown up here.
She should have felt safe.
Instead, her chest ached.
Not sharply. Not painfully.
Just… wrong.
Ember lay still, staring at the ceiling as the feeling bloomed outward from the center of her chest, spreading through her ribs and down her spine. Her fingers twitched against the blan
