Elara didn't sleep that night. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every conversation she had with Mira. Each memory made her feel sicker than the last.
She told Mira everything. About Aria's routines, her insecurities, the way she'd struggled during the competitions. About how kind she was, how trusting. About the garden where she spent her mornings alone and vulnerable.
Elara had handed Mira a map to Aria's weaknesses. And she done it out of spite and jealousy and that gnawing need to feel important.
By dawn, painting her room in grey and pale gold, Elara had made her decision. It would cost her everything. The fragile possibility of friendship with Liora, any chance of being part of their group, probably her reputation in the pack. But she had to do it anyway.
She had to tell them what she had done.
