The next morning, Silverfang Territory woke beneath a different sky.
The storm had broken during the night, washing the land clean. The air felt lighter, softer, touched by dawn’s quiet gold. Birds perched on the rooftops sang their first songs of spring, and the forest surrounding the pack grounds hummed with a calm, ancient approval—as if even nature had waited for this moment.
When I stepped outside the pack house, the breeze brushed against my face gently, almost reverently, like it recognized me. Like it welcomed me home.
I wasn’t wearing a mask.
For the first time since the wedding, my face was open to the world—my real face, not Cassandra’s shadow. Not a disguise. Not a lie. The sun warmed my cheeks, and I inhaled the scent of pine and earth with a trembling breath, feeling some
