The first pull came without warning.
Mira felt it while standing alone on the eastern balcony of the Silverfang stronghold. The morning air was cold, sharp with mountain frost. Below her, the valley stretched wide and gray, fog clinging to the trees like a living thing. From here, the world looked quiet. Too quiet.
Her wrists were free now. The chains had been removed days ago, replaced with an unspoken rule: she was not to leave the inner walls. Guards still watched her, but from a distance. A courtesy. Or a cage with wider bars.
Mira rested her hands on the stone railing and breathed slowly, counting each breath the way her grandmother had taught her when fear turns dangerous, one, two, three.
Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, restless but calm. Too calm.
That should have warned he
