AYLA – POV
The gate didn't open with a sound, it tore.
Like fabric too tight around a wound, like breath held too long. The air folded backward and the world behind it bled into view—darker than void, quieter than silence.
I didn't want to look.
But I did.
Callen was in there. Somewhere. And if this was the price of choosing myself, then I'd pay it twice.
"Don't," Kael whispered.
But I stepped forward anyway. The ash under my boots felt damp. Wrong. And when I crossed the threshold, everything snapped cold.
Just pressure—like a thousand memories pressing into the back of my skull, trying to force me to forget myself.
But I didn't forget.
I saw the last thing she'd touched: the silver spiral on her wrist, unraveling.
Kael followed, eyes sharp. He didn't ask what I was feeling.
He didn't have to. He felt it too.
This place hated wolves. Not out of malice—Out of memory.
The path twisted.
