Hope's POV.
The room is so quiet I can hear the distant ticking of a wall clock and the hum of electricity in the light above. Everyone is staring at Emory — but I can’t take my eyes off her. My best friend. My confidante. A wolf. A spy.
My stomach twists into a thousand knots, but I keep my voice steady. Barely.
“And how the hell were you supposed to do that?”
Emory doesn’t answer immediately. Her jaw tightens, her hands fidget. She looks like she’s about to be sick. I want to feel sorry for her, but the fury in my veins doesn’t allow for it. Not yet.
She takes a breath, and when she speaks, her voice is quiet — but devastating.
“Whatever I had to.”
The words land like a punch to the chest. I stumble a step back.
“What does that mean?” My voice shakes, and I hate it. “Kill me if I
