The walls of Elena’s father’s estate were thick, ancient stones that had stood for centuries, but tonight they felt as though they were leaning in, suffocating her.
She sat at the vanity in her old bedroom, the same room where she had once dreamt of becoming the most powerful woman in the pack.
She should have been happy; she was the wife of the First Commander, the woman every female in the village envied. But as she stared at her reflection in the polished silver mirror, all she saw was a lie dressed in silk.
A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the heavy oak door.
Elena didn't answer it, but it creaked open anyway.
Her mother stepped in, her face etched with a worry that made Elena’s jaw tighten, and her father followed, his heavy brow furrowed as he closed the door behind them.
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