(Hazel's POV)
The honey cakes taste too sweet. Like they’re trying to cover something up.
I chew slow, just like Mama told me—never trust sweetness too fast. Especially from someone who talks too soft and smiles too much. I keep my eyes half-closed, the way wolves do when they’re watching something dangerous.
Rachelle’s voice is like syrup, sticky and fake. “I want to help you, Hazel. You and your brother. I want to teach you how not to be controlled.”
I blink at her.
That word. *Controlled*. I don’t like it. It sounds like cages and chains and being told what to do with the thing that burns under my skin. I don’t know what I am yet—but I know I’m not a tool. And neither is Asher.
She leans closer, like she thinks we’re sharing secrets now. “People are always scared of what they can’
