SLOANE
The instant I walked into the pack house, I ran straight into Helena.
Hard.
My shoulder slammed into hers, and the impact rattled my bones.
“Watch it,” she snapped.
Her voice was sharp. Clean. Cold.
I looked up.
Of course it was her.
Helena Sinclair stood in the hallway like she belonged there. Her posture was perfect. Her hair was sleek and smooth. Her clothes were dark and expensive, the kind that whispered money and power without trying too hard.
She looked exactly the same as always.
Untouched by time.
Untouched by guilt.
Her eyes traveled slowly over my face.
Then her mouth curved into that familiar smile.
The one that never meant anything good.
“Well,” she said. “If it isn’t the family burden.”
My stomach clenched.
I straightened my spine. “Still speaking like
