I stare at the envelope for what feels like forever, my hands shaking.
Sage.
Not Lena. Not my fake name. My real name.
It’s sitting there on the cracked sidewalk, right in the path I usually take to the diner. Whoever left it knows me. Knows exactly who I am.
I glance around. The street is empty. The sun is barely peeking over the buildings. No one in sight.
I pick it up carefully, feeling the weight of it in my hands. It’s light, just paper, but it feels heavy with meaning. My wolf inside me paces, restless and alert.
“Don’t open it.” Oakley whispers.
“I have to.” I reply.
I step into an alley, out of view from the street, and carefully open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, folded neatly. The handwriting is sharp and deliberate. I recognize it immediately — too pre
