I wake up slowly, not because my body is ready but because my head feels too full to stay asleep, pressure sitting behind my eyes like something unfinished is still pushing against me from the inside. The ceiling above me swims in and out of focus, unfamiliar for half a second before recognition settles in, carved beams, pale stone, the faint scent of the packhouse wrapped around everything. My throat is dry and my muscles ache in that deep, bone level way that only comes after a shift, but I can’t remember shifting back, can’t remember how I got here at all.
The last thing I remember clearly is pain, white hot and consuming, the red moon burning through the sky and my wolf tearing free without asking my permission, and after that everything fractures into flashes rather than memories. Th
