The whisper wouldn’t leave her. Even as dawn broke and the camp stirred, Aria still felt the ghost of that voice curling around her bones: The fracture is already yours.
She had heard threats before, from rogues, from traitors, from her own haunted memories. But this one was different. It didn’t feel like a threat at all. It felt like a prophecy.
And worse—it felt true.
Everywhere she turned, she saw it. Cracks. Wolves who bowed but did not meet her eyes. Warriors who whispered in corners, their voices falling silent as soon as she entered. The uneasy hush that seemed to follow her footsteps like a shadow.
Killian noticed too. He always did.
“You didn’t sleep,” he murmured that morning as they walked the border, his arm brushing hers.
Aria gave a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”
