AYLA – POV
She stood at the edge of the Grove.
Cassia's face.
But not her.
Not anymore.
The smile was too wide. The teeth—too many. Her eyes glinted like obsidian soaked in blood.
The fifth crest glowed faintly on her chest.
It wasn't shaped like mine.
Or Kael's.
Or Neris's.
It was jagged.
A crown of fangs—looped into a ring.
The Bitten had found their Luna.
Daya drew her blade before the wolves could move.
"Stand down," I snapped. "That's not a threat. Not yet."
"She ate Cassia," Rylan whispered.
Kael stared at the figure. "Or what was left of her."
The wolves murmured.
"She came from the Thread."
"She walks like Ayla."
"She doesn't breathe."
The fifth crest pulsed. And the ground beneath her feet cracked.
She stepped forward. Every movement is a decision. And when she spoke—It wasn't Cassia's voice.
It was ours.
All of them.
The Unnamed. The Unmade. The wolves who had never lived and the ones who had died too soon.
