Seraphine's POV
A few days passed, and everything settled into a routine, just as Margot had promised. Vegetables in the morning, water before noon, laundry in the afternoon. My body also fell into the rhythm—but in the wrong direction. Every morning the bandage on my stomach felt heavier. Every evening it burned, as if hot coals lay beneath it. The skin was red, yellow fluid gathered at the stitches, and the smell was strong enough to cut through the kitchen’s noise. I could barely look at it.
The iron on my wrist weakened the wolf inside me. What he would usually heal overnight, he now struggled to hold together. He growled at me every morning: “Clean it. Water. Rest. Healer.”
And every morning I told him, “Later. Tonight.”
But at night, I never went.
Meanwhile, I gained an enemy. H
