A week had passed since Aveloria woke up from the poison. The healers said her body had fully recovered, and everyone else thought she had. She moved through the palace with her usual composure, expression calm, and steady steps. But inside, she was unraveling.
The nights were the worst. Every time she closed her eyes, she was dragged back into the same nightmare, blood soaking into the forest floor, the scent of iron thick in the air, and the echo of cruel laughter from unseen Wanderers. Her voice cried out in the dream, but she could never move or fight back. When she woke, her heart would be racing, her sheets damp with sweat. Her wolf stirred violently inside her, restless, angry, and desperate to be released.
